


Polarity

by MinervaNorth



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, F/M, Hallucinations, Missing Scene, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: Dr. Odessa Price simply wanted to do her job well at the Central City Police Department. She was a great criminal psychologist, she had a nice apartment downtown, and a loving cat that actually appreciated her. Then the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator failed, causing a wave of penetrable impossibility to sweep through the metropolis. When she woke up, she could hear thoughts and feel emotions. Then she met the Flash.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics





	1. Time

**Dec. 11, 2013 / 9:32 p.m. **

Something feels off. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know something’s off. 

It seems like there is a storm brewing outside, and I know I should have tried to get home before it hit, but it just popped up so fast. And for December, that’s strange. 

I already don’t like thunderstorms. Mom always got really eerily uncomfortable during storms, but we made the best blanket forts during those hours. 

This is definitely a blanket fort kind of storm. 

I go back to the newspaper article I was reading. It kind of made sense, but I didn’t try too hard to understand: that S.T.A.R. Labs was starting up their particle accelerator. It was supposed to do great things, help the community, grow the scientific community’s knowledge, blah, blah, blah— 

And they call psychology a pseudoscience. 

There’s a crash of thunder and the lights go out. I hear the electricity power down. Okay, Essie. You can handle a little power outage in your office. It’s not a big deal. 

The unnerving silence is cut off abruptly by the loud eruption outside. 

I run to the window—off in the distance a bright red mushroom cloud dances into the storm. 

The S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator. They were turning it on tonight. 

Before I can catch my breath, a wide sphere of red light shoots from the epicenter and outwards until all lights in the buildings around us are shut off, one by one. 

I step back from the window, I want to run away but I know I’m not going to make it. 

I nearly trip, knocking down a book on metacognition onto the floor— 

When I look back up to see where the red light is, it disappears. 

Suddenly, it’s gone, and I’m gone, too. 

In the blackness, I feel wave after wave of panic with a touch of curiosity. I see a red streak of lightning, I see a black hole, I see— 

I wake up on the floor. How did I manage to get onto the floor? The blast wave— 

It couldn’t have hit me. It was just light. It was just part of the explosion from the particle accelerator. 

I had to have been out for only seconds, but something felt wrong. Something felt off. 

Everything feels off. Something in my mouth tastes electrical. 

He’s dying— 

The storm is close. 

What the hell happened? 

I’m terrified. I gasp, I shiver; I’m cold and suddenly I’m hot. The unnerving silence is cut off abruptly by the loud eruption inside. A crash of thunder, a crack of lightning, the shattering of glass. 

I can’t seem to catch my breath, like I’ve been shocked with a defibrillator. I swear I hear someone yell, then get cut off. 

Before I realize it, I’m running down the hallway. 

The door to the CSI lab is shut; I swipe my card—doesn’t accept. I swipe it once more, but I realize I don’t know the code. 

Of course I know the code, it’s 6672. Wait, I don’t know the code— 

I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach and wrench open the metal sliding door. 

Even in the darkness, I can see the decimation inside. The skylight is broken, with glass shards everywhere and rain coming down inside. Shelving units, down on the ground, with their contents—all types of chemicals—broken and spilled. I don’t know what’s safe and what’s hazardous— 

Oh my God. 

I throw myself at the empty shelf, pushing it out of the way and effectively knocking it down. 

On top of one of the overturned shelves, I see a body. He’s not breathing, I can tell from here. 

Brushing away some of the shattered glass from a dry part of the floor, I feel the glass shards cut my hands and I can’t bring myself to care. I dial 9-1-1, and put it on speakerphone. 

I can’t do CPR from where he’s laying. Carefully, I pull him off sideways until I can lay him down. There’s blood on his hands, a cut on his face— 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

It’s not easy, but I get him and his partially melted Chuck Taylors on the hardwood. 

The rain’s coming through the broken skylight. It’s not making this any easier. It’s just making me very cold and wet. 

“Cardiac arrest, possible lightning strike, 28th floor of the Central City Police Department. Criminal and Forensic Science Division. Mid-twenties male.” Wait—I know him. He’s one of the only people who says hello to me in the hallways. 

Barry Allen. 

“And your name?” 

“Dr. Odessa Price,” I mutter, and the dispatcher mutters something about sending up EMTs. 

I start CPR. It’s not the first time I’ve done it, and it’s definitely not the last, I know that much. I feel the glass pushing deeper into my palms and I cringe but it’s not important right now. 

I know I’m breaking ribs. I don’t care. This kid’s going to live. 

I have to keep pushing. I can’t let him die. He’s got too much to do yet. Too much… 

“We’ve had too many goddamn calls tonight, and the last thing we need is a lightning strike.” 

“I really hope I didn’t leave my laptop plugged in. I can’t lose my paper because of a freakin’ lightning storm.” 

The EMTs make it through the door. I would hope they’re a bit more focused than that, but I’m not going to say anything. I’m still pumping my hands against this kid’s chest. I can’t stop now. God, my head hurts. 

“Ma’am, please step back. We can take it from here. God, is this her blood or his blood? And why is it always the super-nerds that get themselves into trouble?” 

“Excuse me?” 

I look up to the Hispanic EMT, and he gestures away from Allen, nodding to me. I refuse to stop compressions. “It’s okay, just step aside. Barely looks old enough to be a doctor.” 

I do as he says. His mouth doesn’t move for his last sentence. How…? 

Instead of asking, I step back from him. I lean back against the wall, holding my hands out in front of me. They’re bleeding, but I can’t even feel them. I clutch them to my head. My head pounds. 

The EMTs get Allen on a gurney, start wheeling him out. 

“I want to go with you,” I call out. The other EMT, a blonde woman, eyes me sympathetically. 

“She looks so pathetic, and she’s bleeding—might as well take her in the bus.” 

“Wait, what?” I can’t focus, between being cold and bleeding and knowing that time, her mouth didn’t move. Her mouth didn’t move. I’m hearing things and their mouths aren’t moving. 

“Let’s go,” she says, nodding to her partner. I hear him mutter something about against protocol but nods to me anyway. 

Her mouth didn’t move though. She didn’t speak. How the hell did I hear her? How the— 

There’s chaos in the elevator, but I squeeze in, and no one is speaking. No one’s mouths are moving, but I hear fragments, pushing CCs of meds, joules of electricity. 

By the time we get into the ambulance, my own mind is reeling. 

I close my eyes, trying to block out the splitting headache forcing its way into my mind, and I stay out of the way as they pull the gurney out once we get to the hospital. 

I wander in, following them as far as I can go into the Emergency Room. 

As soon as I get there, I cringe. Nothing’s discernible: it’s all medical jargon I should know but it’s not sinking in. It’s coming from all directions. I can’t make it stop, it’s just too overwhelming. It’s so loud, it’s so loud. It comes from everywhere. I feel like I’m going to puke. 

Iris West—the detective’s daughter— whirls in, distraught. She’s screaming she’s family, she’s family, until she’s kicked out of the vicinity, sobbing. 

“Iris?” 

She finally turns to me, her look of despair just barely registering relief. 

“Essie. What are you—she found him. She’s the one who called the ambulance.” 

I shut my eyes. I know only part of that was said out loud, but how could I possibly know what she’s thinking? 

Is that really what she’s thinking? 

“Essie—hey, can we get some help over here?!” 

I sink to the ground, my hands still bloody and sliced with shards of glass. Iris grasps onto my wrists— 

Everything hurts. Oh, God, it’s like someone stabbed me through the heart, and tears run out of my eyes, I can feel them burning. 

I hear fragments. _You’re family. We’re family. We’re like brother and sister, but we’re not—fourteen years._

It’s like a million shards of glass under my skin until Iris lets me go. 

The sensation immediately subsides and I feel like I’m falling. 


	2. Human Qualities

**Monday, October 6, 2014 / 7:07 p.m. **

I know what Barry Allen is hiding. 

It really wasn’t my fault, to be honest. I’m still learning to control what I can do. Since it’s been nearly a year since the Incident, I’ve been able to learn how to block most people out, but when Allen came back to the Precinct, it’s like the guy’s on speed. Sometimes I can hear his thoughts even though I’m not trying. 

It’s like he’s unintentionally projecting them. 

That’s how I found out he was the Red Streak or whatever they were calling it now. 

I see it on the news—they’re talking about another freak accident. I know what really happened, so I stopped paying attention. 

It’s not fun anymore when you know the person behind the mask. 

Well, I kind of know him. I mean, I work with him. 

But he’s special. He’s special like me. I’m not the only one. 

It was kind of lonesome without him. He actually was one of the people who said hello to me besides Iris. But I did get Cisco and Cait out of the situation, so that was a win. 

I finish off my glass of vodka. Damn—I’m out. I’d have to remember to get more. I wonder if they sell it wholesale. 

The news switches tactics, so I do as well. They start discussing that neurologist everyone’s been buzzing about lately—Dr. Erik Jensson. 

“Jensson is just months away from announcing the results of his groundbreaking project on personality and the brain. Members of the scientific community await his research on pins and needles.” 

The news anchor disappears to a prepared clip of Dr. Harrison Wells. I don’t listen to what he has to say—he gives me a weird feeling, and he knows it. He’s the one who gave me these skills, and who helped Barry Allen. 

Skills is a strange word to explain what I can do. 

I wonder if he could help me— 

The news switches once again. They’re explaining a string of muggings happening in the downtown district—something I should watch out for, evidently. It doesn’t worry me anymore, so I shut of the TV mid-report. 

Chekhov just rolls around on my lap, waiting for me to pet him. While I don’t have the ability to really get into the minds of animals, I can get a little bit out of Chekhov. More like feelings, like vibes. And I think he’s trying to get me to calm down. 

Or he wants petted. Or both. 

I cringe. I hear Mr. Utterson muttering to himself next to me. Well, not muttering, per se. Thinking loudly. He’s complaining about something or other, about the news, about his wife, about his job, it’s all very generic and preachy. I look down at my glass. Too bad it’s empty. 

I pet Chekhov, and his loud purring distracts me for a little while. He’s almost too big for my lap anymore—why did I think having a Norwegian Forest cat in a one bedroom apartment in the middle of Central City was the best idea? 

I don’t think Chekhov minds, so I guess that’s a plus. 

I wonder if Allen’s right and there are other metahumans. 

Chekhov meows at me. 

But I can’t help it—I can’t seem to get that Allen out of my mind. 

So to speak. 

Hell, at least I’m not speeding around Central City, fighting crime in a red spandex suit. 

My phone starts ringing—_Killer Queen. _I should probably think about saving some numbers. When I glance at it, I know it's the CCPD main number. 

“Hello, Detective West,” I answer, already getting up from my seat. Chekhov’s left a pile of orange hair on my skirt. I try to wipe it away as he speaks. 

“Price. Need your help down at the Precinct. You think you could come in?” 

“For you, West? Anything,” I say, already grabbing my keys and bag as he laughs on the other end. “Anything I should know beforehand?” 

“C’mon, and give you a head start? Nah. I like seein’ you do what you do best.” 

“I’ll be there in thirty.” 

Probably not the best idea after three glasses of vodka, but it’s not like I’m driving. Besides, the cool air will drain it out of me. 

West and I—at least we see relatively eye to eye. He is the one who tends to bring me in on cases, because I think he’s at least intuitive enough to understand I’ve got a skill. 

I’m not going to be the one to break it to him that I’m kind of cheating. 

People around me have begun to wear light jackets. I never grabbed mine. I don’t need it. There’s something in my blood that doesn’t need all that warmth. I mean, had my parents not gotten married and Mom and I had stayed in St. Petersburg, I would have been Odessa Mikhailovna Mislavovna, not Dr. Essie Price. 

And whether I like it or not, I wouldn’t have been graced with the ability to read minds or change emotions. 

Okay, that’s simplifying things entirely too much. Not everything is so black and white. 

Maybe I should consider visiting that Dr. Wells again. He doesn’t seem to like me, though, and I don’t like him. He weirds me out. 

But I haven’t seen Caitlin and Cisco in weeks. Even Cisco stopped playing me on Trivia Crack. Probably because I kept beating him. 

I check my phone. The last text I got from Caitlin was a ‘we should talk’ text that I didn’t answer last week. 

It’s half past seven, and while it’s dark, there’s enough people on the street to make it seem like a normal evening. I think there was some sort of sports game tonight, but I don’t follow those things. Except for soccer, and that’s only occasionally. 

And usually I’ll pay attention when Mom is screaming at ‘futbol’ and how the Zeniths were shafted last season, when I know she would have been one of the people who ran out of the stands during the game. 

Hell, she would have been one of the fans who punched a player, probably. 

I wish they hadn’t had to move to Coast City. 

I just walk a little faster, feeling the vibe from whatever high some of these fans were coming off of. 

The good kind of high, not the bad kind. I don’t want to get a hold of any of that. 

As I keep walking, I see a particularly stressed looking young woman. She clutches onto her messenger bag tightly, trying to navigate through the small crowd. 

I press slightly into her mind—there’s nothing truly coherent besides the fact she wanted to get home and out of the groups of people. 

I slip by her, gently touching her arm. I nearly jolt, but I’m used to the feeling now. 

A wave of panic, almost like a shiver, rolls over me. I have to hold my breath for a moment, but soon, the claustrophobia disperses with the taste of sea salt, then nothing. 

I’m not the Red Streak, but I have my own type of superpowers. 

The sick feeling in my stomach from the girl is all but gone when I head up the stairs to the Central City Police Department. I barely get into the lobby before West is strolling up to me, file in hand. 

“Nothing? No greeting, no background information, you’re just throwing me in there, sight unseen?” 

West just gives me what I’m sure he thinks is an innocent grin. “C’mon. We know the guy did it. We just need you to help us figure out what makes this guy tick.” 

“You just like watching me work,” I say. 

He hands me the file as he leads me through the bullpen to the interrogation room. I slip into the room on the other side of the one-way glass. In the reflection, I can see him behind me, crossing his arms as he peers into the room. 

Detective Thawne does the grunt work on the other side, asking the perp some basic questions to give me some time. 

Your standard lover turned murderer is what it’s sounding like so far—a body of a young woman found in a dumpster, where supposedly she had died from a drug overdose. This guy, the soldier ex-boyfriend. The problem was finding the killer—they were pretty positive he was the one who did it, with his officially undiagnosed bipolar disorder. 

Mental illness is very easy to diagnose when you can read people’s thoughts, and this man is clearly in a manic stage. 

And could possibly be dangerous. 

“Detective? You may want to pull Thawne out. That man is suffering from bipolar disorder, and he’s within a manic stage that may cause him to do something drastic.” 

He doesn’t say a word, and instead immediately leaves to step into the interrogation room. I watch the man on the other side. His eyes wander. 

_Jump just jump if you lunge then this is over it’s all over it’s—_

“Price—“ 

I jump, letting out my held breath. 

“Damn, sorry, kid, didn’t mean to scare you,” West says, holding the door open for me to step out into the hallway. 

I shake my head a bit, trying to clear my head. I want that man’s voice out and as far from me as possible. 

“Thanks, Price,” the younger detective says, breaking me from my calming thoughts. “He was creepin’ me out. Did you get a good enough read on him?” 

I hand over the file to West. “Talk to his doctor or psychiatrist. He’s got to be talking to one of them about his bipolar disorder.” Before West can open his mouth to ask if he’s the murderer, I’m already answering. “It’s likely he’s the murderer. The cocktail of drugs in her system is a mixture of heroin and benzodiazepines. And we know she didn’t have the disorder. He probably cut the pills to make it more like an overdose, but benzodiazepines are used to treat bipolar disorder. The man wants to continue to serve in the army, but he’s clearly unfit for duty. I’m assuming—“ I’m not assuming. I already know. “—after their break up, she was going to either rat out the doctor giving him meds under the table or tell the U.S. Army to discharge him.” She was going to tell her uncle, who’s boyfriend works in the FBI. But those are details they don’t necessarily need right now. “Find his doctor. Get her to admit she’s giving him the meds, and match the composition of the ones she has in stock to the stuff in the victim’s bloodstream. Any questions?” 

West just clasps a hand on my shoulder as he silently shifts past me. I pry a little into his mind—_I don’t know how she does it but I’m not going to complain._

“You ever think about being a detective?” Thawne says. _No, I better not suggest it. I don’t want to lose my job._

I laugh. “Don’t worry, Detective. I’ve got too much schooling to let it go to waste. Besides, wouldn’t want you to lose your job.”  
He lets out a nervous laugh as he follows after West, nearly at a jog. I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but I can’t help it. Those two actually take advantage of what I can do—or what they don’t realize I can do. 

At least I can help catch bad guys this way. It’s the least I could do, with whatever powers I have been gifted. 

God, at least I don’t have something physically visible. That would be awful. 

I get the typical wave of thoughts and concerns from the bull pen. I try to crush them down, but it’s like a loud crowd following me around. And those are the good days. 

Significant cursing alerts me to the newest visitor to the precinct. Paulson and Curtis try to hold onto a flailing perp, and while handcuffed, they didn’t seem to be doing very well. 

Thawne moves in, but he’s going to get smacked down if they’re not careful. 

I slide around the desk, throw my bag down on West’s filing cabinet and approach the nearly rabid man. 

He’s projecting so hard it makes my head hurt— 

_It wasn’t me it wasn’t me I didn’t do this don’t do this to me_

He’s crying out too, I cringe because I’m getting his unmatched statements like a perpetual canon. 

“Price, get back—“ Thawne says, but I throw him a look that makes him stand down. 

I mean, it was only supposed to be a look. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thrown a bolt at someone, to be honest. 

_Please no it wasn’t me_

The man’s only wearing a t-shirt like he was arrested inside a home. While he’s handcuffed, Paulson’s almost lost his grip on the man, so I move in. 

Once my fingers are on his skin, I can stop this. 

_It wasn’t me… it wasn’t me_

A rush of heat, and I’m gasping for breath. Oh, God. Slow down. Keep breathing. No—nobody panic. 

It’s almost overpowering. 

Almost. 

_She’s dead I can’t believe she’s dead I can’t believe he killed her they won’t believe me now_

I can handle taking more, I know I can, although I have my other hand reaching out to keep Thawne at bay, I really don’t know what I would if he grabbed at me, too. 

_Please someone listen to me someone listen someone_

“Someone’s going to listen to your side of the story, okay?” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Someone’s going to listen to you.” 

But the man, his eyes slowly fade from crazed to relatively normal, and I hear myself murmuring under my breath, whispering to him, reassuring him. 

Once I let go, Curtis lets out a pent up breath, nodding once to me. 

They lead the perp away from me, and I feel the eyes of the precinct all on me. It’s been a while since I’ve done that, but I avoid it. I can’t help but hear snippets of conversation—or thoughts, I don’t know—as I leave questioning how I did it. 

I grab my bag from West’s desk and make my way towards the door, but when I do, I see the detective standing with the tall, lanky CSI, who peers at me so hard I think he could be seeing through me. 

When we make eye contact, West turns so I can’t see his mouth moving. 

I know I could push into his mind, find out what is so important that I don’t know, but I know this is one of the situations when I would rather not know. 

Instead I approach them and West turns towards me, an inquisitive look on his face. 

“I don’t think the guy did it. Whatever happened. Tell Curtis or Paulson, please. I have to… I have to go upstairs,” I mutter, my voice hoarser than I anticipate. 

Before I realize it, I start up the stairs. I can’t shake it. I can’t shake the feeling, the taste of iron, the taste of blood. It dries out my mouth, and the feeling of cold steel, ghost steel, threatens the pulsing veins in my throat. 

Just make it to your office, Es. Just—just make it up there. 

I can barely see by the time everything kicks in and I collapse into my desk chair. 

Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, sometimes it’s worse. 

My hands shake. I clasp them, I try to force them into fists, to try to stop them from shaking, but it’s not helping—stay calm. Stay—stay calm. 

I have to see this through, and once I’m through it, it will be gone. 

The slight taste of iron dissipates from my tongue and I know the reaction is almost gone, but it doesn’t make it any better. 

I regulate my breathing. In, out. Slowly. Lower your heart rate, Essie. 

I wonder if the Red Streak has reactions to his powers like this. His metabolism must be extremely high, at least. 

I look down at my hands, and they’re shaking less and less. I turn my hand over and trace one of the scars on my palm. I have a few and most of them mask themselves in my palm lines. But one, deeper than the rest on my left hand, traces from the bottom of my thumb down to the other side of my wrist. I had to laugh when it finally healed; Mom, in her typical superstitious ways, commented on how it cut through my life and fate lines. 

She found out about my skills early on. Dad, it took him a little while longer, and then he jokingly wanted to take me to Churchill Downs until I reminded him I can’t tell the future. 

I told him Las Vegas would be better. 

My ability is more physical than I care to admit, though; taking on one’s mental instabilities or emotions for a short period of time, while in reality, a small price to pay, could take its toll on someone after a while. 

I extricate myself from my chair, nearly sliding out and onto the floor. I feel weak. That’s the worst I’ve had in a long time. 

I almost feel bad for the man. 

Someone was murdered, someone close to him, and now he was being charged for it. So far, at least. I hope they listen to me. I hope someone listened to me. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

I jump, looking towards the voice at the door. It’s Allen, looking like he’s either coming or going. 

I’m taken aback. Someone noticing the department psychologist, and saying more than hello? That’s a first. 

I didn’t even hear him coming. Usually I’m hyperaware, and no one can sneak up on me. He basically just did. 

“Oh, um, I’m fine. Just a little… just shaken up, that’s all.” 

“What you did down there was pretty fantastic,” he articulates, leaning against the door frame. 

“One of my superpowers, I guess,” I say, letting out what I thought would be a giggle and turns out to be a nervous guffaw. 

He just gives me a smirk, looks down at the floor. “Yeah. One of your superpowers.” 

“I’m Essie. Price.” 

“Barry. Allen,” he imitates, then looks down. My statement reminds him of someone. A blonde, from far away. I miss her name. “I’ve probably met you officially before, but…” He waves his hand around his head. 

“The lightning strike, yeah,” I say, shrugging. “I know. You made some waves here at the precinct with that stunt.” 

“And to think I always liked that skylight,” he says, shaking his head and pulling his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “Anyway. Have fun with those ‘powers’,” he says, making quotation marks with his fingers as he slips out of the doorway. 

I curse to myself. I forget that he still doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know I’m the one who saved his life. 


	3. Consummation

**Tuesday, October 7, 2014 / 7:25 p.m. **

“You know I could easily set you up with one of Eddie’s friends.” 

I spin in my chair lazily, thinking of the best way to let Iris down gently. She’s always trying to do this. It’s nice, but she’s never going to get anywhere. 

I keep trying to explain that, but it doesn’t seem to make it into her head. Love the girl, but she’s so dense sometimes. Like how she still doesn’t know her best friend is the Streak, and she has a blog dedicated to him. 

I wonder if he’ll ever tell her, to be honest. That would just add to his problems. And from what I hear, he’s got enough. 

“Iris, I know how badly you would love to go on double dates with me, but no. Just… no. The last blind date I went on ended with too much vodka and ice cream. I still can’t eat Jerry Garcia following that night.” 

She giggles, but doesn’t relent. “Fine, you had one bad date. You have something in common with literally the rest of the world. Please, just let me find someone for you. You’re adorable, you’re a nerd. I can think of someone—oh!” 

My work phone rings, and I hold out a hand for her to stop giggling for a moment. Instead, she hides her mouth behind her hand. 

“Dr. Price.” 

“If you’ve got a minute, come over to forensics,” West says unceremoniously. 

“Hello to you too, Detective West,” I say. He mutters something about pleasantries when I see Thawne at my door. “I’ll be right over.” 

I hang up, grabbing my notepad before pointing a finger at Iris. 

“Don’t you mess anything up in here or it’s the last time I let you two use my office.” 

She holds up her hands in mock surrender. “You said that last time. And hey, I have someone in mind for you.” 

“No, Iris. And you are lucky you are both adorable,” I grumble past Thawne, who gives me a cheeky smile as he slips past me. “Lock the door this time, please? I don’t want West to kill me.” 

“I’ll get you a date with him. And you’re the distraction, remember?” Iris says, but I pull the large sliding door shut behind me before she can finish. I block out their thoughts purposefully. I don’t want any of that in my mind. 

I don’t know what West could possibly want from me in the Forensics lab, but I tuck my pen into my messy bun in some sort of attempt to look presentable. 

The door is wide open when I get there, and Barry sits in his desk chair, absentmindedly kicking himself into an arc. West leans on Barry’s desk, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“There’s only so much you can do,” West says insistently, unaware of my presence. 

“I know, but there’s got to be a way to figure—“ Barry cuts himself off when West nods to me. 

“Price.” 

“West,” I say. “Hello, Barry.” 

“Dr. Price,” he says nervously, straightening in his chair. 

“What’s this about?” I ask, but I push into West’s mind for a moment._Bear’s freakin’ out about this girl being a metahuman, got this mugger terrorizing the downtown—_

I draw a quick breath. The conversation from before, from the other day—when they were in the bullpen. They saw what I did and automatically jumped to conclusions. 

I’m not saying they’re wrong. I’m just saying I’m not ready to admit it. 

“We’ve been working a case,” Barry starts, still spinning a little in his chair, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the string of muggings.” 

“Yeah—downtown,” I say. “Saw it on the news the other night. What does this have to do with me?” 

“We’ve got a girl downstairs. Curtis’s got her,” West explains. “They brought her in, saying she was attacked by this mugger and got a good look at him. We want to see if you can get a read on her.” 

“Get a read on her?” I ask, “What do you think, I’m a psychic?” 

Barry lets out a laugh, then stands up, adjusting his cardigan. “Not exactly—“ 

West pushes him back with a look. “They think she might need a psych eval.” 

“What brought that on?” 

“The description she’s giving of the mugger,” West says. 

Without another word, I start out the door and we head downstairs to the bullpen. 

I’m not stupid. I know what this is. One, it’s a way for them to figure out the person—or thing—behind these muggings, and two, they want to know if what I can do is consistent. 

I have to be careful if I’m not to be found out. 

But I can’t let this girl think she’s crazy. That’s unfair. 

There are certain prices to pay, I guess. 

They lead me into the interrogation room where Curtis sits across from the terrified looking girl—I know her. I’ve seen her before. She’s the anxious girl after the sporting event. The one I helped. 

Curtis just gets up and leaves, allowing me to sit down and talk to her at least alone in the room. She still shakes, her eyes rimmed in makeup from the continual stream of tears. 

“Hi. I’m Essie. I’d like to talk to you for a little while.” 

“About the mugger? Who are you? Are you a cop?” She wheezes, clasping her shaking hands in front of her. 

“I’m not a cop. I’m a psychologist—“ 

“You think I’m crazy?” She says, her voice breaking. “I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.” 

“What’s your name?” I ask quietly, and she darts her eyes from me, to the window, and back again. 

“Jordan. Jordan Hart.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jordan.” 

She just starts to cry again, this time, making her hands shake even worse. 

I try to fight the urge, the urge to help her, but it’s not working. It’s not working at all, and I just reach across the table. She tentatively places her hand in mine. 

I hide the jolt, the shiver, because I know I’m being scrutinized with every moment behind the glass. I run my thumb over her knuckles, watching her shaking fingers eventually settle. I try to bury her panic, I try to bury her terrified thoughts, like swallowing something hard and not being sure whether it’s going to go down or not. 

I taste salt, I taste musty green, I taste metal. I taste sweat and iron and fear, and then I taste nothing, like the rush of clear water over my tongue. 

I feel sweat on my face, but I refuse to let go until she lets go, but I’m glad when she does. 

“I know you know what you saw. We’re just trying to make sense of it.” 

“Make sense of it? There’s a freaking Red Streak running around town.” 

“Can you describe what you saw?” I say, trying to hide the waver in my voice. 

“Huge. 10 feet tall. It wasn’t human. It couldn’t have been human. It… it looked disjunct, like someone had pieced it together. Like… like…” She takes a deep breath, then looks back up to me. “Its limbs didn’t match. The spines—it wasn’t human. It couldn’t have been human.” 

“What did it do to you?” I ask quietly. I’m hyperaware of my heart beat. It’s loud in my ears. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, one minute I was walking downtown, and the next I was in a huge crowd of people. But they had no faces. They had no faces…” She starts breathing too heavily. But she’s telling the truth. She’s breathing too hard, and her face is turning white and I reach out for her again just before a medic comes into the room. 

But it’s enough. That’s enough information, I know it has to be. It has to be enough. 

I find West outside of the room, and he’s nodding in thanks, and Curtis says something about more and more weird things happening in this town but I just want to leave, I want to get out of here and not be in this room full of people. It’s so loud. Everything is so loud. 

I can’t take the elevator there’s no way I can take the elevator so I take the stairs I take the stairs all the way up to my floor and luckily my door is unlocked when I get in and there’s a note on my desk written in Iris’s flowy handwriting but I turn it over I can’t look at it right now because I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe— 

I’m going to pass out if I’m not careful, so I slide into my desk chair, I lean my head back, I close my eyes. Slow, deep breaths. Not short, shallow ones. In, out. You’re not claustrophobic. You’re not in that alley. 

You’re not crazy. 

“Dr. Price. You ran out of the bullpen pretty fast.” 

“You can call me Essie, you know,” I say, but my voice is shakier than I anticipated. 

Barry meanders into my office and I refuse to make eye contact with him. 

“You really have a way with people. I mean, a big way with people. She opened right up to you once you calmed her down.” 

“It’s a skill,” I mutter, looking down at my shaking hands. I hope he can’t see that. I really hope he doesn’t see it— 

“It’s more than just a skill,” he says, leaning on my desk next to me, speaking clearly, accusingly. “It’s a talent.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s why I got into this profession, I guess,” I try, spinning my desk chair away from him. 

He starts to stop me, and I reach out. 

It takes me a moment to realize I’ve grabbed his wrist before I’m suddenly getting a rush of his thoughts, the taste of sea salt on my tongue, his minor anxiety, everything’s moving fast, too fast— 

_I need to talk to Wells. Maybe she’s a metahuman, maybe he can find me a way to determine what she can do, she has to be a metahuman… she has to be a be an empath, or something, or—she’s gotten really pale, and stopped talking—_

“Dr. Price, are you okay?” 

I just let him go. I’m lightheaded, and he thinks I’m a metahuman. He thinks I’m someone like him, and now I’ve been inside his head—I hate doing that. He’s going to know. He’s going to know what I can do, and suddenly his anxiety is my anxiety… 

I mutter something about realizing I left something at home, or that I needed to go home; I don’t even know what I say until I find myself outside of the Central City Police Department as the sun goes down. 

I need a drink, and I forgot my flask at home. 

I just need to clear my head. That’s it. Take a walk, clear my mind, and I can come back and focus. 

So I start walking. 

There’s got to be a way to get him off my case. There has to be—my powers, they’re invisible. Nothing can be proven, can it? Would that Dr. Wells have a way to prove that I’m a metahuman? Damn, they would be able to do anything. Hell, they made humans with superhuman qualities. Come on. They made the Streak— 

I don’t know where I’ve ended up, but the lights here are flickering or are out. I can’t even bring myself to be scared. I just laugh. At this point, I can’t care— 

Something growls in the shadows. It whines, then the sound almost comes to a point. 

And I know I’m not crazy. 

I stop moving. The light, about 10 yards ahead, continues to flicker. 

I look straight ahead, I don’t move, and I push out with my thoughts. 

If something’s out here, I’m going to know about it. 

The sound was off to my right, so I focus my mind there. I feel the tendrils reach out— 

When I blink, I’m looking up at sky, swirling amoebas of blue and black. Swirling, swirling— 

What the hell happened? 

Something wraps around my wrist. It feels like metal, like chain link, something heavy and unbreakable. I grab at it, I claw at it, but it goes taut. 

I start moving, my back against the gravel, the cut glass of the alleyway—whatever it is, it’s dragging me. It’s dragging me— 

I grab at the chain and yank it as hard as I can. Whatever it is, it loses its grip on me. I hear it, I hear its thoughts—it’s shocked, it doesn’t think I should be able to. I’m awake and I shouldn’t be. 

I could really use Barry right now. God, where the hell is he when I need him?! 

I don’t know what’s got me, but it’s not going to take me alive, I know that much. 

I back up, I try to find a way out, but it’s too dark and there are too many buildings in the industrial district. Everything has a sick greenish hue, and it makes me want to be sick, too. 

“What do you want from me?” I call out, starting towards the light. “What the hell do you want?” A heavy footfall, the dragging of metal against metal, and the creature steps into the light, the green hued light. 

Barry, wherever he is, God, I need him to get here, I need his help— 

Whatever it is, it’s about ten feet tall, it’s hunched over, like the weight of its arms are too much. But it doesn’t look proportionate—its right shoulder raises higher than its left. The right arm is inhuman, a sick shade of green, just like the light, and the knuckles drag on the ground, while the other, the left, almost looks like a normal human arm. Grotesque spines, metallic spikes, come out of its shoulder, leaving its head lull over to its inhuman arm. A growth protrudes out of the side of its head, the spikes growing out far enough so when it moved, they produced sparks when scraping against the ones attached to its shoulder. 

On the large arm, the inhuman arm, a loop of chain cuts into its wrist. He holds onto the chain tightly, and I don’t have to see where it leads. 

The creature the girl described. 

That’s all I had to see before I started running. I try to run, I try to get out of there— 

The road starts to spin. The lights, they start moving towards the ground, and the black-blue amoeba sky rotates downward. 

Dust, glass shards, dirt slams into my face, and I feel my wrist snap as he pulls me back down, he’s pulled me back down to the ground—where the hell… where is he— 

I’m bleeding, I’m face down in the dirt, I don’t know what this monster wants to do with me and I just realized I have powers. I have powers— 

I’ve done it before, I’ve fended off a prisoner in the bullpen before, so I know I have to try. 

Try, or end up dead. 

I brace myself up against the ground, and I know that thing is approaching, but I take a breath, I hold it in my lungs. I keep my eyes shut, and in the blackness behind my eyelids I form a bolt of lightning. 

When my head and lungs feel like they’re going to explode, I push out. I push out, I focus it forward, and try to reconnect with the monster in front of me and— 

It lets out a shriek, a shriek so loud, so shrill I know this thing cannot be human. There’s no way. 

I try to pull the chain off my wrist, but it’s imbedded itself in my skin and broken bone. I cringe, I dig my fingers against the blood and skin and pull the dirty metal out and off my hand. 

I start running. 

I start running, but nothing looks familiar. Nothing looks right—the alleyways, they… 

They all lead back to each other. They all swirl, and—it’s a labyrinth. And it all leads to the monster in the middle. 

And he’s in the middle, this hunchback, and he’s waiting, he’s— 

He’s grinning at me. 

I try to run, and he’s in front of me. 

I drop to the ground, exhausted, to my knees. 

Everywhere I run, he’s there, everywhere I— 

I see a bolt of red lightning. 

Barry just slams full force into the monster, sending the creature flying into a set of dumpsters. When did those get there? 

He’s to me, he’s dragging me up to my feet, but I feel so weak—he holds me up, but I fall, limp, against his grasp. It sounds like I’m underwater. 

He tries to speak to me but the words don’t make sense in this green hazy world. 

He grabs my shoulders, he shakes me, and— 

I blink, I regain my mind, and I see that I’m not in the industrial district. I’m not even close—I’m in an alleyway off Main Street. 

How did I get here? How the hell— 

Hallucinations. This thing made me hallucinate? 

He leans me up against the brick wall, then zips away. 

But the monster— 

The monster is real, and it’s here. Nothing was the same, that alternate world didn’t exist, but this monster—it’s here, it’s identical. 

It looks at me, it looks at me grinning, as it pulls itself out of the dumpster, spikes shining in the moonlight. 

“Run!” he yells to me, but I’m shaking my head. There’s no way he could take this thing. If it latches on to him, everyone’s screwed. 

“No! He’ll make you hallucinate—don’t let him in your mind! Block your thoughts!” 

It’s easier said than done, I know that for a fact, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m panicked, I’m bleeding, I can’t quite feel my fingers— 

I don’t want to try to get into the creature’s mind again, I know how that ended, so I know I have to find a way to block him from getting into ours. 

A shield, I realize. I need to—I need to make a shield? 

I don’t think about it this time. I throw up my hand, fingers splayed, I feel like an idiot until I see the monster’s sadistic grin fall and his head tilt, causing sparks. 

If I squint, which I do because my head is piercing with pain, I see the iridescent wall shimmering between it and us. 

“What did you do?” he says, stepping back to help me steady myself again. He pulls his arm around my waist. I can’t look at him. If I do, he’ll know that I know, so I take the assistance, not breaking my concentration. 

And it’s taking a lot of concentration. 

“Well, Barry, you’re not the only one out there,” I mutter, taking a shaky breath. That thing is trying to break through and it’s like a battering ram on tissue paper—with each hit, I cringe, and it’s taking my breath away. I feel each hit like it’s a punch to my chest. “He’s got telepathic powers. I’ve got telepathic powers. I’ve tried to put up a shield but he’s pushing through and I’m not going to be able to keep it for long.” 

The world spins, and I’m afraid I’m going to hallucinate again, but he just leads me to my knees. Although I’m bleeding, I hold up my other hand. The shield grows. 

“I don’t know what to do—how the hell do you stop a monstrous telepath?” He says, and it’s pointedly not at me. There’s no response, but he shakes his head. “No, you guys, we’re getting killed out here… yes, we, we’ll talk later, Cisco. C’mon!… Thank you, that’s something I can do!”  
It’s starting to hurt deeply, more continuous. It feels like electricity, gently cycling down from my fingers to my wrists to my arms and to my chest. I see the shield begin to collapse on itself. 

But he is gone. 

A red and yellow streak spins around the creature, which fights back, trying to keep up. I can’t keep up. I can’t see straight. 

The thing throws him like he did before, causing him to smash into the wall and crumple. He doesn’t get up. He’s not getting up. 

It runs at him, once, then again; I hear a ripping sound and then nothing. 

The monster lumbers towards me again. 

My shield wavers. I can feel myself shaking, I’m shaking, I can’t stand this for much longer— and I don’t know where he is. 

I look up to the creature once more. 

He has blue eyes. He has piercing blue eyes, and they look frightened. 

He moves past me, leaving me be, not trying to get through the last of my shield, until the alleyway is quiet save for the sound of my ragged breathing. 

I want to pass out, I feel like I should pass out at this point but I don’t know where he went. I can’t find him. I don’t know where he went— 

I know better than to yell for him. I can’t—I can’t seem to— 

He’s on the ground, crumpled. He’s breathing, I think. I nearly flash back to a year ago, but this is such a different situation— 

Is it a different situation? 

He has to be breathing. It’s labored, it’s slow, but he’s breathing.  
Part of his mask is torn off, and I see blood. I see blood on his face, and there’s blood seeping from a wound on his side, his hand still limply holding onto it. I think I hear tinny voices, and I realize he must have an earpiece. 

He has a team. 

And I know who it is. 

I don’t even think. I touch his hand, I take a breath and I dive. I’ve done this for my dad, I’ve done it with emotions, I’ve done it with much smaller things, but I don’t care. 

I dive into his mind, I dive into his pain receptors and a sour taste fills my mouth. It dries out my mouth, until I’m almost choking, it’s like I’ve swallowed a bowlful of sand. 

I lean down, I don’t know where the microphone is, but I try to speak into it. 

“Cisco? If that’s you, this is Essie Price. You—you need to send a team or whatever to—to our location,” I say. “I don’t know where… where we are.” 

My breathing is shallow and fast. I feel blood soaking the side of my shirt. I hear myself let out a whimper, and I fall to my knees. 

There’s speaking on his earpiece but I can’t discern it. 

His wound knits up, clean and gone. I look down at my side and the source of the flowing blood: a long gash, ragged and deep. 

My hearing is the first to go, and my sight skirts in black. The alleyway is sideways. Is this a hallucination? No, it can’t be. This is real life. 

He can’t die, I think, as the pain floods, overwhelms my system. I could though. I could. 


	4. Empathy

**Thursday, October 8, 2014 / 7:06 p.m. **

“She’s waking up.” 

“Did someone call Barry?” 

“I texted him, he’ll be here—“ 

“I’m here.” 

“—right now.” 

The trio of voices already make my head hurt. After the whoosh of wind I know Barry is there, or here, or wherever we are… 

I don’t want to open my eyes at first, but I’m going to have to face it sooner or later. 

My head is pounding too hard for me to use my power, so I communicate the old fashioned way. 

I open my eyes, and two faces look down at me. 

Caitlin Snow and Cisco Ramon. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, but they can’t ruin my secret. 

They can’t let Barry know. I look from each one of them and lightly shake my head. 

“He doesn’t—“ Cisco barely breathes. 

“No,” I whisper. 

Cait immediately checks my pupils with a light and obviously declares me at least mostly healthy. 

I groan and try to move, and I hope to God both of them have caught on. 

“You don’t really want to do that.” 

I glance down at Cisco’s shirt. I have to grin when I see his “Keep Calm and Han Shot First” t-shirt. 

“Nice shirt,” I groan, trying to regain my bearings. He starts beaming. 

“Oh, I like her. We can keep her,” he says, turning to someone at the foot of the bed. 

I follow his eyes. I know what I’m going to see, but I’m going to have to face it sometime. 

Barry leans against the bed frame with both hands extended, looking like a disappointed parent in his little cardigan. 

“Just exactly when were you going to tell me about all this?” 

“About what, exactly?” I ask, trying to soften him with a smile. It doesn’t work. 

“You know, knowing his secret identity,” Cisco says. 

“Or having powers,” Cait remarks, taking down an I.V. bag from the hook next to me. 

“Wait, what? How did you know I knew—“ 

“You called me Barry in the alleyway,” he says, and I silently curse myself. 

“You’re going to have to be easy on me,” I say, directing it specifically at Cait. “ I’m still trying to piece together exactly what happened,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “What day is it?” 

“Thursday,” she says, checking my wrist. It’s in a cast. Great—broken. Just what I need right now. 

“I’ve been out for a day?” 

“Yeah, and it’s killin’ the department.” 

I look off into the corner, and Detective West leans against the wall. 

“Jesus, does everyone here know now?” 

“Dr. Wells isn’t in yet, so you can still surprise one more person,” Cisco says, sliding into a desk chair near my hospital bed. I glare at him. He has to tell Wells before he gets here. 

“I’m in S.T.A.R. Labs?” I ask, but Cait pulls the I.V. out of my hand without warning and I jump. 

“You’re catchin’ on quick!” Cisco responds, spinning in his chair. Damn, he’s a good actor. 

“ You’re the Streak’s team, then.” 

Cisco just gives Barry a pleased grin. Barry almost looks like he’s suppressing a smile. Almost. 

“Barry brought you back here once he realized… what you could do," she says, finally breaking her icy visage with a small smile. 

I suddenly felt awful, but there was no way I could tell them what I could do. I would have my own conversations with them later. 

“What can you do, exactly?” Cisco asks, wheeling back up to my bed in glee. 

Barry appears to be paying intense attention as well, so I know I have to list them. 

“The basics? Mind reading, psychic communication. I can make people do what I want them to do. Psychic shields, bolts. I can also read feelings, emotions. I can take people’s emotions, change them.” 

Cisco looks at me in disbelief, like what Barry can do is so normal. 

“Think about something you don’t think I would know.” 

Even as he thinks about it, I push into his thoughts, across the tendrils of wavelengths and just start speaking. 

“Pi! No, the Fibonacci Sequence. You also want Big Belly Burger. That does sound really good right now… wait, you don’t think I would know either of those numerical sequences? How rude.” 

His eyes widen. “Holy smokes. You can read minds.” _I feel so betrayed,_ he adds almost humorously, until he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He looks back at me. I glare at him, and he cowers. 

“So that’s how you’ve been doing all that investigating this past year,” West adds, and I feel like I’ve pulled the rug out from underneath him. 

“I thought I could do something good with it, at least,” I say, shrugging. I regret it, because something pulls at my side. 

“Stop moving, you’re going to pull your stitches out,” Caitlin says, lifting up the side of the blanket to check my wound. 

“So how exactly can you take emotions?” Cisco asks, and Barry starts rolling his eyes. 

“Usually just by touch—“ 

“Can we please get back to talking about the other night?” Barry says, visibly agitated. 

“Can you calm him down?” Cisco says, throwing a thumb at Barry. 

“No, I don’t want to be calmed down,” Barry says, crossing his arms. “How did you communicate with me from so far away?” 

“Wait, what? What do you mean from so far away?” 

“You were blocks away from CCPD. From what I can tell, you at least have to be within eyeshot of someone to use your power. How did you get to me?” 

I look down at my hands, trying to piece together what he’s telling me, but nothing’s making sense. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You called out for me. It must have been when you were being attacked. I heard you, and I came.” 

“He came running,” Cisco adds, giggling. 

“I never did that,” I say, shaking my head. “If I did, it wasn’t conscious.” 

“If she’s been in your mind before, she could have created a psychic connection,” Caitlin responds, obviously deeming my wound healing. God, it hurts. Why the hell did I have to do this shit? 

“So you’ve read my mind before?” Barry says, immediately defensive and running both his hands over his head. He nearly throws a bolt at me of his own—not nearly as powerful, but still cringeworthy. 

“Don’t be so harsh, please, you’re giving me a headache,” I say, rubbing my forehead again. “You don’t understand, the last couple months… it’s been hard. The first month I was so sick because I couldn’t control it. I was getting everyone’s thoughts, everyone’s emotions, until I learned to block it out. And then when you came back, it was like getting hit all over again.” 

“What do you mean?” Barry asks, leaning back down on the bed frame. 

“I had learned to block most thoughts, but you came back and it was like everything else was in slow motion. That’s how I found out you were the Streak—because you kept broadcasting your thoughts. Every time I passed you in the hall, I heard what you were thinking about. I don’t know how else to explain it—I didn’t try to read your mind. You were just moving so fast all the time, your thoughts crashed into me.” 

This makes him silent, like he finally realized some of this wasn’t my fault. 

“I just wanted to do something to make it right, you know? I had this power, so I was going to use it to help people.” 

“So what made you run off?” He asks, turning his gaze on me. 

I tried to remember what he was talking about, but then I pieced it back together—the other night. The reason I got into that alleyway in the first place. 

“I—uh, well, I tried to turn away from you, and when I touched you, your thoughts, your emotions… they overwhelmed me. I had to get out of there. I wasn’t running into danger, I swear. It kind of just found me.” 

He’s stopped looking mad and instead switches to concern. “You could have died out there,” he starts as he paces. “With what that thing did to you—“ 

“You mean to you,” I correct. 

He stops pacing and addresses me directly. “What do you mean?” 

I curse my big mouth. He had no idea. “I—uh, it’s complicated.” 

“You’ve got empathic healing, too, don’t you?” Cisco says excitedly.

“That doesn’t sound good,” West says from the corner. 

I glare at Cisco, and he cowers a bit. I give him an apologetic look—I didn’t mean to throw a bolt at him. 

“Just like emotions, I can transfer pain,” I explain. “Sometimes, if the pain is caused by some sort of… physical wound, I take that too.” 

“You’re telling me that monster did this—“ He gestures to me as a whole, “To me, and you took it from me? Why?” 

“He’s mad because he heals very fast,” Caitlin explains in a whisper. 

“Hell, I didn’t know! How could I have known you can heal?” I say, running my hand through my hair. God, I know it looks awful, but there’s nothing I can do at this point. 

Cisco snorts. “You’re a mind-reader, aren’t you?” 

“I try not to do it unless I really have to,” I retort. 

Barry approaches me from the side of the bed, waving his arms in a gesture of finality. “Okay, stop, stop. Everyone stop. You took these wounds from me—can you transfer them back?” 

I scoff. “I should be able to. I mean, it’s not going to be pretty—I’m exhausted and I’m in pain, so it’s going to suck, but probably.” 

“It’d put you down for a half hour, maybe,” Caitlin says to Barry, surveying me once more. 

Barry doesn’t waste any time by pushing a hospital bed up near mine. 

“Barry, you don’t have to do this,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m going to be fine. I should be—“ I start to get up, but my side just throbs in pain and Caitlin pushes me gently back down. 

“You better just let him do it,” Cisco whispers to me. “He’s not going to be happy until you do. He’s been whigging out for a day over this already.” 

I look over to Barry just in time to see him pull off his cardigan and his t-shirt and climb into the bed shirtless. Doesn’t want to ruin his shirt, I presume. Not with all the blood I expect to occur in the next minute or so. 

I shake away my admiration of his abs. Don’t want him getting that with all the pain I’m going to be sending over. 

Damn, though. 

“Are you really sure you’re going to be strong enough to do this?” Caitlin says. She’s such a worrier. 

“Does it matter? I’m already basically in a hospital. At least I’m in good hands,” I say, winking. 

“Let’s do this,” Barry says. “The sooner, the better.” He reaches out his hand across the little aisle between beds and awaits mine. 

I lean my head back, take a breath, and clasp my hand into his. This time it’s different; this time, I catch his agitation first. Not quite anger, not quite anxiety; it fills my mouth with the taste of burning plastic, gritty and ashy. But it quickly goes dry and I dive deeper into his mind. I find the pain, where I reached before but I see an afterimage of a woman, dead on a wooden floor before finding where I need to go. 

There’s the sour taste, the dusty taste, and my breathing gets shallow. He squeezes my hand tightly. I can feel his heartbeat, twice as fast as my own. 

I’ve never done this in reverse before, but I can feel my skin knitting up, and I let out a cry. I shut my eyes, seeing the dead woman again. His mother, I suddenly know. She was murdered. She was murdered a decade and a half ago. 

“Essie, are you okay?” 

I open my eyes once more to Cisco and Cait, looking worried but slightly less than previous. Once I make it known that I’m okay, Caitlin cracks the cast off my newly healed wrist. 

“Is Barry okay?” I try, but my voice is hoarse. I glance next to me, and Barry looks worse for the wear: he’s pulled a blanket up around him and looks paler than normal. Bandages wrap his wrist now—just how long was I out?— and he just gives me a weak grin. 

“That display was amazing. Too bad I missed the one previous.” 

The voice is a new one, and it belongs to a dark haired, bespectacled man in a wheelchair. 

He doesn’t even need to introduce himself. Besides—I already know. 

Cisco immediately pulls Wells into the other room, which gives Cait just enough time to throw me another glare. When Wells comes back, I address him. 

“Dr. Harrison Wells,” I say, thankful for Cisco’s intervention. 

“Usually the metahumans we meet aren’t willing to give me the time of day,” he remarks. 

“That’s because most of them are evil,” Cisco says. 

“That may be true. But you, Dr. Price, you have a mental power—something that could lend itself so easily to a life of crime.” He looks kind of offended, actually. Probably because I didn’t tell him. 

“I’m too pretty for the Dark Side,” I respond, using Cisco to help me get out of the hospital bed, now that I don’t really need it. I’m still weak, but I can stand on my own now. Cisco laughs out loud upon my comment. 

“The Force is strong in this one,” he says. 

But Wells? Wells doesn’t react. I don’t try to read his mind, and something tells me I shouldn’t. 

Honestly—I’ve already tried. 

* * *

After they’ve let me shower and given me a set of S.T.A.R. Labs sweatpants and a t-shirt, I feel at least a little bit more alive—but still concerned. Before we get back to the main lab, Cait stops me in the hallway. 

“When were you going to tell us you were a metahuman?!” 

I immediately backpedal. “I didn’t think it was relevant at the time—“ 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“C’mon, Cait, would you have believed her?” Cisco says, joining our group. “We didn’t even know about metahumans until Barry woke up.” 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long,” I concede, and Cait seems to take that response. At least for now. 

“I told Wells. He understands, but encouraged you to talk to Barry ‘immediately’.” Cisco gives his last word air quotes. 

“I’ll get to it. I really will. I promise. Okay? Are we okay?” 

They both nod. 

“But I do have to say… I’m disappointed you didn’t tell us,” Cisco says. 

“We could have helped you,” Cait agrees. 

“I know,” I whisper. “I know that now.” I let them lead me back to the other room. 

Back in the lab, West has left, but Wells remains. He wheels his way up to me. 

“We just wanted to see a display of your abilities, now that we know that one, you’re uninjured, and two—“ 

“You’re not evil,” Cisco concludes. The young Latino starts on hooking himself into what looks like a lie detector test—the computer screen next to him has a series of empty charts, waiting to be filled. 

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing, and am I doing it to Cisco?” 

“He volunteered,” Wells offers. Cisco gives me a thumbs up from over Wells’s shoulder. 

“Fine, you asked for this,” I say. Caitlin goes to sit behind the computer. “What does that gauge?” 

“Pain and brain waves, mostly,” Cisco says. “We’ve got to have some sort of proof that you’re doing what you’re doing, not just me saying you’re doing it.” 

_But you know I’m doing it._

“Of course we do—“ 

I start laughing as Caitlin looks to Cisco with wide eyes. “What are you talking about?” She asks, placing receptors on his forehead and linking the cords to the computer. 

He double takes to Caitlin. “I trust the fact she has her powers.” 

_Of course you do. Why would I lie to you?_

He glances back to me and notices my mouth isn’t moving. I know he does, because his jaw completely drops. 

“She’s doing it right now! That is so badass.” 

“There are spikes on the mental chart higher than normal functions,” Caitlin concludes as soon as she starts the machine, and Wells peers over her shoulder at the readout. 

“You’re right. It nearly doubles during their apparent conversation.” 

During their science speak, I head over to Barry’s hospital bed. He’s already looking better, and his wrist is already nearly healed. 

“Is it like this all the time?” 

“Pretty much,” he says, scratching his side. During the time I was out, he had at least slipped his t-shirt back on. I was slightly disappointed. Damn, I hope Cisco didn’t hear that. 

“I totally heard that,” Cisco monotones. I don’t dignify him with a response and instead block out our connection. 

“Listen—I’m sorry about how this all ended up,” I begin. “I really should have addressed it, but… I was just scared. And I got comfortable. I didn’t know it would end up like this.” 

“Just one more person that knows I’m the Streak,” he says, half in jest and half in what seems to be exhaustion. 

“Who am I going to tell?” I scoff. “Maybe Chekhov…” 

“Chekhov?” 

“My cat.” 

“Well, that’s depressing.” 

“About a year ago, him and I started to really get along.”  
He just lets out a short laugh. “You can’t read a cat’s mind.” 

“Not really, but I can get like, generalized emotions or what he wants. It’s not coherent or anything, but we can kind of communicate.” 

“That’s pretty cool,” he concedes, peering over my shoulder at Cisco. 

“Hey, time to do something else, c’mon, I’m ready,” Cisco says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

I don’t look back at him and instead smirk at Barry. “What should I make him do?” 

Barry’s face cracks into a wide grin. “Make him do the Macarena,” he whispers. 

I don’t watch Cisco. Instead, I watch Barry’s reaction to watching Cisco. 

I push out with my thoughts and find his mind—it’s not hard once we’ve been connected before. It’s like saving a password in Google Chrome—all I’ve got to do is press enter. 

_Do the Macarena._

“Essie, don’t do this,” Cisco pleads, half-humorously. 

“Do the thing.” _Do the Macarena, Ramon._

Barry starts laughing hysterically, and then appears to regret it by pressing his hand against his side. I can’t resist—I turn around just as Cisco groans out a loud ‘no’ and wiggles his ass to turn around and restart the chain. Even Wells is laughing. 

“You have proven your point, Essie!” Cisco says, and I break my hold from him. He drops down into his chair like a spurned child. 

“You realize I could have done a lot, lot worse than make you dance?” I say, pulling myself up onto Barry’s bed. 

Cisco just grumbles in response. 

“You said you could do mental bolts, too?” Caitlin asks, and Cisco groans yet again. 

“I’ll do a small one, Cisco.” 

“I regret volunteering for this.” 

I close my eyes, imagine a little bolt of static electricity—just a jolt—and shoot it at him. He yelps. 

“His pain receptors went through the roof,” Caitlin says in disbelief. 

“Dr. Price, I believe you are a telepath,” Wells says. 

“She said she could control emotions, too,” Barry adds, giving me a sassy smirk. 

“Gotta share my secret since I took yours?” I say, raising my eyebrow at him. 

“We’re kind of excited to see a metahuman that doesn’t want to kill us. He wasn’t kidding.” 

“Are all of us mostly evil?” 

“Mostly,” Cisco groans as Caitlin begins pulling him off the machine. 

“Now, Dr. Price, can you explain to me what you can do with emotions?” Wells says, rolling over to me and clasping his hands under his chin. 

“Like I told them, I can read emotions. Without touching them, I can get just really generalized vibes out of people, but if I touch them, I can get very specific feelings. And often I take them.” 

“You take them?” 

“Like I transferred Barry’s wounds, I can take someone’s emotion on myself. Like, if someone is agitated, I take that feeling away.” 

“Can you do it right now?” 

I look about the room. “I mean, sure, but I need a candidate. It’s invasive, like the telepathy.” 

“I’ll do it,” Caitlin immediately says, closing the distance between the computer station and the hospital bed in three strides. 

“Oh, okay. Um, well, I’ll need your hand.” 

She reaches out, palm up, looking down at it and not making eye contact with me. I see the engagement ring encircling her finger. 

I take it. I see a nuclear explosion in reverse: I see fire, and I see her with Ronnie, dying in the accelerator malfunction. I taste iron, I take her anger; I taste the sourness of pain. For the first time, though, I feel her draw me closer to an emotion—her worry, her anxiety, her fear—and urge me to take it instead. I do what she wishes, drawing it out until my mouth tastes so salty, I need a long drink. 

I pull away from her, already suffering from tunnel vision before I even get out. Hands on my shoulders steady me, and I finally blink myself back into focus, hearing a chorus of ‘breathe’ before it all sinks in. 

“Is the reaction always like that?” Cisco asks, handing me a glass of water. I didn’t ask, but I realize I didn’t have to verbalize—he could hear my projected thoughts now, if I let him. 

I just look up to Caitlin. She looks more at peace now. Much more than what she had started with, but I know she’s already getting more worried by looking at me. 

“That’s a typical reaction,” I lie. “Some better, some worse, but yeah, that’s typical.” 

She looks at me and knows I’m lying. 

“Well, Dr. Price, I would like to invite you back here tomorrow, if you’re willing,” Wells says, not waiting for an opinion from any member of his team. 

All three of them give me a smirk, and I take it as a yes. I already expected it from two of them. 

“Why the hell not,” I shrug, hyperaware of all the emotion I took from Cait. “What have I got to lose?” 


	5. Quasimodo

**Friday, October 10, 2014 / 8:27 a.m. **

“You’re looking much better than you did when I left you yesterday.” 

Barry nearly runs into me as I address him on the stairs going up to CCPD. He looks wary, he looks worried, but he gives me at least a grin when I startle him. 

“Oh, yeah, that—that tends to happen. How are you?” 

“I’ve been better, but I’ve obviously been a helluva lot worse,” I remark. He holds the door open for me as we duck inside the vestibule. 

I’m almost immediately assaulted by Captain Singh. I know for a fact he’s all bark and no bite, so it doesn’t scare me when he pulls me aside before I even make it to the bull pen. 

“I was coming to talk to you—“ 

“Where have you been?” He begins, and I expect a tirade, but he ends there. 

Going against everything I believe in, I push against Barry’s mind. 

_Help me. What did you tell him while I was gone?_

He looks at me, almost unnerved, but seems to catch on. 

_Your family had a crisis in Coast City—your mom was in a car accident and you had to make sure she was fine._

“I’m sorry, Captain. With my mom—and my dad was on shift, he had no idea, not until later…” I take a moment to work up some tears. “Everything’s fine now. She’s okay. Thanks for being understanding, and thanks to Barry for helping me stay in contact with you.” 

I know I’ve got Singh when his furrowed brow softens just a bit. “You’ve got a request from Curtis and two from West upstairs. Get to them as soon as possible.” He starts to walk away, then turns back around. “Good to hear about your mom.” 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Barry peers at me with wide eyes. 

“Well, that was unreal,” he says, scratching his head. “Just like that? I mean, that’s all you have to do…?” 

_More or less._

He shivers and I know he’s not cold. 

“Creepin’ you out, there, Allen?” 

“Just a little.” 

We start up the flight of stairs to get to our offices, and I go for it one more time. 

_You’re the fastest man alive, and you think a little mind reading is creepy?_

He gives me a glare, but one that’s made tame by the grin threatening to part his lips. He doesn’t respond; instead, he walks me to the door of my office. 

“You can come in, you know. Stay a while.” 

“Nah, I better get to work too, or Singh’ll be on my ass.” 

“He’s harmless.” 

“To you, maybe.” 

“Have fun doing science!” I say, finally setting down my bag and looking at the notes from West. But he doesn’t leave the door frame. Instead, he gets an inquisitive, serious look on his face. 

“Uh oh. I don’t like the looks of this.” 

“I just have to know,” he begins, crossing his arms and leaning fully onto the door frame. “Where were you? When the accelerator blew?” 

I look down, I look away, I look anywhere that isn’t his face. I dare to look out the window, but I see S.T.A.R. Labs. 

“I was here, actually.” 

“Here? In your office?” He repeats, almost in disbelief. 

“Yeah. Just a few doors down from you,” I mutter, not making eye contact. “I was reading a book about metacognition, actually—“ 

“Thinking about thinking. Of course,” he scoffs, then pulls his weight from the door. “I just didn’t realize.“ 

“Didn’t realize what?” 

“That another metahuman could be just down the hall.“ 

“It was a rough night,” I say. “For everyone.” 

He lets out a single chuckle. “You can say that again.” 

I don’t respond. Instead, I find the note from Iris from the other night, still in the same place I left it, face down. 

“I’ll see you later, then?” He asks, and I absentmindedly nod. 

When I look back up to the door, he’s gone. 

I flip over the note. _You’re the best_, it reads._ Karaoke night soon?_

Oh, Iris. 

For the past year, the detective’s daughter and I really got along—it really wasn’t until the accelerator explosion we really started talking. I mean, that day in the hospital after Barry got struck by lightning was truly the start. 

I’m glad I got her to promise not to tell Barry how that night actually went down, but she’s good at keeping secrets. 

I thank her every day for that. 

Looks like I owe her a karaoke night, at least. 

Before I look at the case files on my desk, I take another look outside. My eyes are drawn to the lab. It’s a different view now, ever since I realized what really goes on there. 

I’m excited to see them, I realize. I’m excited to go back, now that they know about me. 

* * *

The day moves fast and I’m back in the lab. This time, they’ve moved out the hospital beds and opened up the floor—for what, I have yet to determine. 

Wells greets me with a smile—I’m not sure whether it’s truly genuine or not, he’s a strange person—and allows me to set down my bag before accosting me with what I would be doing. 

“We want to try to help you broaden the scope of what you can do,” he begins. I’m distracted by Cisco, actually—I twiddle my fingers in his direction, then point at his shirt and give a thumbs up. He looks down, like he can’t remember what he put on, then grins after he reads the funky font stating “entropy happens”. 

“Are you listening to me, Dr. Price?” 

“No, I really wasn’t,” I say, making Cisco snort behind Wells. “I haven’t said hi to Cisco yet! And where’s Cait—“ 

“I’m here,” she says, not looking up from the tablet in her hands as she wanders into the room. “Anyone hear from Barry? We’ve got a call into 9-1-1 about a possible mugging.” 

Cisco drops what he’s doing and immediately goes into crisis mode, pulling on a headset near the computers. 

“Hey, man, possible mugging in progress. Main and…. 26th.” 

A few papers fly around the room when a reddish streak buzzes in, and suddenly the uniform in the alcove at the front of the room is gone. 

Wells and I forget whatever we were going to argue about and he joins the team at the computers. I stand back and let them do their thing. 

Cisco nearly automatically flips a switch and I can hear Barry’s voice. 

“It’s that damn monster again—“ 

“Quasimodo,” Cisco corrects, then leans back to me. “We give all of them a nickname.” 

“_You_ give all of the metahumans names,” Caitlin accuses, and Cisco just shrugs like he knows what he’s done. 

“You’ve determined he’s a metahuman?” 

“That’s what we’re operating on until we figure out exactly what’s going on,” Cisco retorts. 

I’m suddenly wondering when I get a name. 

But that’s not important right now— 

I hear screaming through the intercom. A young woman’s, shrill and terrified. 

I already know what’s going on. It’s that thing. It’s that monster again. 

“Don’t let him get into your head—“ I frantically push up to the microphone. “Barry, don’t let him make you hallucinate!—Dammit, last time I made a shield.” 

“We don’t know how to beat this guy,” Cisco says under his breath. “Do you see any weaknesses?” 

“He’s got spikes coming out of his head!” Barry’s tinny voice calls. “What do you think?” 

“Can he put up a fight?” Caitlin suggests, but knows it’s a moot point. The monster is physically and mentally strong—we have to find a weakness first. 

We? 

“Get the girl out of there,” I say, grabbing the microphone. “You just have to run. You can’t fight him now. Don’t try to fight him—“ 

The noise cuts off, the sound stops. I’m already feeling panic rising hot in my throat when the red streak materializes in the lab. He looks fine—no blood, but after he pulls off his mask, he shrugs. 

“How are we supposed to beat this thing?” 

Cisco and Caitlin don’t have an answer, and Wells just rests his chin on his clasped hands, looking pensive. 

“You give me a day or two, and I can figure something out,” I say. 

“Your confidence is reassuring, but it’s going to take longer than that,” Wells says. 

“I’m a telepath. It’s a telepath. There’s got to be a way.” 

“Can we make some sort of helmet like Magneto?” Cisco suggests. 

“I don’t see any sort of metal stopping a mental attack, at least completely,” I say. “Sorry, I like my comic books too, but it’s not going to work that way.” 

Cisco looks a mixture of disgruntled and impressed. 

“Then perhaps it’s a good thing we have a telepath on our side,” Wells says, turning to me with a sneaky glance. 

“You’re saying this mugger—oh, wait, Quasimodo—is up to me to stop now?” 

“What’s his power? What can he do?” Caitlin asks, tapping her stylus against her tablet. 

“He made me hallucinate.” I try not to think about what he made me see. “Badly. Very badly.” 

“Can you learn to do it too?” Barry asks. He speeds off, and nearly a second later reappears at my side with his street clothes back on. 

“Impressive,” I say, whistling a bit. “Oh. Sorry, hallucinations. Um—“ 

“You made Cisco do something through your telepathy. Would it be that much harder, say, making them see something?” Wells offers. 

“Who’s going to be my guinea pig?” I say, eyeing each of them in turn. “Cisco, c’mon. You can do it.” 

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not going down the rabbit hole again.” 

“The hallucination does not necessarily have to be something negative,” West states. 

“What, like making me do the Macarena?” 

Barry lets out a loud laugh, then has to turn away from Cisco. 

“Shut up, dude!” 

Cisco groans, gets up and centers himself in the room. 

“You better make this good,” he says. Caitlin starts hooking him to the brainwave monitor. 

“Listen, Dr. Price.” 

“It’s Odessa,” I say to Wells. It’s been a year, and he still somehow manages to call me Doctor instead of my first name. “Essie.” 

“Odessa?” Cisco says in surprise—I realize he’s never heard my full name. “Just how Russian are you?” 

“My mother’s name was Valeriya Dimitrievna Mislavovna.” 

“Bless you,” Cisco adds. 

“She goes by Valerie Price now.” 

“I need you both to focus,” Wells says, holding a hand to his forehead. I think we’re just pissing him off. “Odessa. From what I understand, this metahuman forced you to see a construct he created in his mind. You’ve already shown you can make someone do what you want them to do; I think it’s just a matter of visualizing what you want them to see to make them see it and subsequently project the image into someone else’s mind.” 

“Sounds easy enough,” I mutter. 

“I’m ready when you are,” Cisco says. There’s a little quaver to his voice as he shuts his eyes. I almost feel bad. 

I close my eyes and bounce on the balls of my feet, making sure my knees are loose. I do my best to visualize what I want to send to Cisco: I try to keep the image small, meaningful, but still intricate enough for it to be a different place, a different vision. 

I push into Cisco’s mind. It’s easy, he lets me. I try to plant the image, the sights, the sounds, the smells of what I want him to see; I develop it in his mind. 

Barry starts to say something, but I wave him off and he cuts himself off. 

“No way,” Cisco breathes. I don’t see him, I keep my eyes closed, but I hear them. 

“His brainwaves are off the charts again,” Caitlin reports. 

Cisco lets out the best giggle I’ve ever heard. 

“What are you seeing?” Barry finally asks, and I know he’s curious as hell. 

“_A New Hope_! Chalmun’s Cantina in Mos Eisley! Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes are playing!” 

“Are we supposed to know what he’s saying?” Caitlin says. 

“Star Wars. The cantina band,” Barry explains. 

I focus. I have to focus, or it’s going to fail. It’s going to break down— 

“Woah, Essie—it’s flickering,” Cisco says. 

I concentrate. I have to. If I can make someone else hallucinate, maybe I can stop this guy from trying to hurt more people, trying to terrorize Central City— 

“She’s projecting.” Cisco. 

I try to breathe, but the image breaks, the image falters, the image fails and I’m in blackness and I’m falling, swirling black, blue sky. I’m falling again, I’m crashing and there’s no one here to catch me— 

But wait. This time, there is. 

I’m on the floor. I’m leaning against someone. Someone who’s holding my hair back— 

I blink my eyes open, and Caitlin lets out a heavy sigh. 

“You’re not going to try that again. Not for a little while, at least,” Caitlin says, shooting a dark glance at Dr. Wells. She hands Cisco a wet washcloth before getting up. She and Dr. Wells head off into another room. 

“She’s going to scold him,” Cisco says, pressing the cool rag against my head. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“We’re assuming it backfired,” Barry says. He’s the one I’m leaning on, I realize. He’s the one holding my hair back from my neck. I feel like I’m on fire. My thick hair doesn’t help my cause. 

“It did backfire,” Cisco says quietly. “You were out for a minute or two. We thought you would start seizing. Caitlin almost called the hospital.” 

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that’s a great idea—“ 

“You nearly stopped breathing,” he continues. “You panicked, didn’t you? You were thinking about the pressure of trying to stop Quasimodo.” 

“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you?” I push Cisco’s hand away and try to get up. It doesn’t work very well; Barry stands with me and tentatively places his hands on my waist to steady me. It’s definitely not an unwelcome gesture. 

Wait, what— 

“Caitlin’s going to push that you don’t try again,” Barry explains. “But I think you need to focus. I’ve been in your shoes before. If you focus, and you get past it, I think you can do it.” 

I just rub my eyes. “I’m not going to try it again today, that’s for sure. Actually, I think it’s time for me to head home.” 

“Are you going to be okay getting home? You did just spend about two minutes unconscious,” Cisco says. He’s worried, and it’s strangely comforting. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m fine,” I say, pulling away from Barry and going to get my coat. My legs shake, but I get over there anyway. “It’s just about 8 blocks away.” 

I grab onto the table to make sure I’m stable. I’m totally stable. I can walk those blocks easy. 

When I look at the boys, Barry just nods at Cisco. 

“I’m going to take you home,” he says. I start to complain, but he pulls on his own coat. “You said it yourself—I’m the fastest man alive. I can get you there a little bit quicker.” 

“Okay. Well then. I’m on Main and Third. The 300 block apartment complex.” 

Cisco just gives me a little smile before tearing the receptors—finally—off his forehead. 

“I’m sorry—“ 

I cut him off by pulling him into a hug. I just bury my face in his shoulder. It takes a moment for him to put his arms around me. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cisco.” 

“You’re going to want to try again so soon?” 

“Only if I get to try another scene from Star Wars.” 

“Sign me up.” 

“Tell Caitlin I said bye. I don’t want her to think I hate her.” 

“She doesn’t,” Cisco immediately answers. 

“You ready?” Barry says. 

“I don’t know how this is going to work—“ He cuts me off by pulling my arm around his shoulders, gently, then he pulls my legs up in a bridal carry. “That’s how this is going to work,” I finish, clinging on for dear life. 

Just for good measure, I close my eyes. 

With a rush a cold air, he places me on my feet. I feel the breeze, I feel snow. 

I open one eye, and he laughs. We’re outside my apartment building. 

“Never do that again,” I say, trying to walk shakily up to the door. 

“Are you going to make it up alright?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I mutter, waving him off. I’m not fine. In fact, the little Streak-travel did not do well for my vertigo. 

“Hey—it’s not all that bad at S.T.A.R. Labs. Don’t take a failure as a reason not to come back.” 

I grab onto the door, holding it to keep me steady as I turn to address Barry. 

“Trust me—I know. It’s good… it’s good to have people around who know.” 

He nods. “No man is an island. I learned that fast.” 

I feel the heat emanating from indoors. I can literally hear my vodka calling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Barry Allen.” 

“I’ll try to be on time, Essie Price.” 

He disappears in a stream of light and my heart jumps. 


	6. Ire

**Tuesday, Oct. 15, 2014 / 9:54 a.m. **

I rub my eyes. I just can’t get awake this morning. My fourth cup of coffee isn’t helping. After that many cups, I think it loses its effectiveness. 

I can hear the mumbling of his inner thoughts, nothing truly coherent, before he comes in. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t, depending on whether I’m listening. 

When I spin in my chair, I realize he looks worse than I do. 

“What train hit you last night?“ I ask unceremoniously. 

He scoffs. “Could say the same to you.” 

“Mine’s named Stoli. Did yours have a name?“ 

“Uh, Tony Woodward.” 

“That’s oddly specific. Sounds like a craft beer—” 

“It’s not alcohol,“ he says, leaning against my desk and cradling his own cup of coffee. He peers out to the door, like he’s waiting to see if anyone was listening. 

I can read your mind, you know. 

He’s a metahuman, he suddenly says. He can turn his skin to metal. 

“I am iron man,” I sing under my breath. “So this Tony guy annihilated you?” 

“Thirteen fractures in my hand, from what Caitlin told me,“ he says, twiddling his right hand at me. “A concussion, three cracked ribs. Bruised spleen, too.” 

“Damn. Damn, Barry, are you okay?“ I ask, standing up. Now I’m worried. I don’t know why I’m so worried. Why the hell am I worried— 

“I’m fine now. I just need to figure out how to stop this guy,” he says quietly. 

“How are you going to stop a man made out of metal?“ 

He shrugs. “I literally have no idea.” 

“Kind of like how we’re going to stop this crazy psycho mugger creature, right?“ I say, stepping back from him. I had gotten kind of close. 

He harrumphs. He does look tired. 

“I am tired.” He says it with so little enthusiasm, it makes me want a nap. 

“You can sleep on my couch,“ I say, gesturing my thumb towards the slightly ratted couch on the other side of my large office. “It’s kind of comfy, depending on how bad the hangover. You look about a level four.” 

“That bad, huh?“ 

“Don’t tell me you’re going back out after him today,” I say, getting that tone my dad does when he’s worried about me. 

“Essie, it’s not like I can just let him wreak havoc. He’s already done enough—” 

“What, like terrorize you in elementary school?“ 

“You know, sometimes this mind reading thing is a little out of hand,” he snarks, pulling his weight off my table and heading towards the door. “I’ll be back later. I’m headed over to S.T.A.R. Labs.” 

“I’ll make an excuse for you,“ I say with a heavy sigh, throwing myself back into my desk chair. 

“If you ever want to, you know, use that couch, my code’s 2273.” 

He gives me a tired wink before slipping out behind the sliding door. 

_I hate you, Barry Allen._

I get a faint reply_. No you don’t, Essie Price._

I have to suppress a smile. 

* * *

Even when I don’t dream, the blackness has a hazy, spinning quality to it—black, and grey, and mixing like wind and debris. 

It’s Cisco’s statement of “dude, don’t run angry” and incessant beeping that jars me from my dreamless sleep. 

“We don’t know how to defeat him yet!“ Cisco says. He actually looks serious. And worried. Mostly worried. 

“Where’s he headed?” I ask. 

“Tony Woodward’s,“ Cait says with disdain. 

We don’t hear anything through the comm system. Not for about a minute, until— 

“This is definitely the place,” Barry comes through, sounding determined, angry, maybe a bit scared. 

“Is he there?“ Cait asks, but we get no response. His tracker hasn’t moved, either. He’s all the way over in Keystone City. I mean, it’s a hop, skip and a jump, for sure, but it’s not like I could get there fast enough to help him. 

Barry’s vitals go awry. Heart rate spikes, everything spikes for barely a moment before it all descends, and Cait’s deemed he’s lost consciousness and she goes into freak out mode.” 

“Barry,“ I say out loud. “Barry! Barry, wake up!” 

“It’s not going to work,“ Cisco says. He’s already got a ring of keys in his hand. 

Without another word, we start running down the halls of S.T.A.R. Labs. 

“Do you have the tracker?” Cait calls to Cisco. He’s looking over his tablet, swiping and moving and trying to find a map to get where we need to go. 

“I’m doing the best I can—” He says, fumbling with the keys. 

I pull them out of his hand, and he looks slightly offended when we make it into the garage. 

“Listen, you navigate, Cait needs to monitor his vitals, so that leaves me as the driver. I know my place, and it’s behind the wheel of a creeper van.“ 

“I would laugh if this wasn’t a crucial moment,” Cisco says, allowing Cait to jump into the back of the van and sliding into the passenger seat. 

We’re out of the garage in less than 30 seconds. I know a shortcut through to the bridge into Keystone, and Cisco doesn’t try to fight me. We have to go through the warehouse district, and it’s dark, but I just force him to lock the doors. 

“He’s still breathing, but he’s weak,“ Cait says. I don’t like the quaver in her voice. I know she’s attached to Barry. I’m starting to think I am too. 

We squeal around a turn that’s marked ‘no turn on red’ but I don’t care. It’s not like there are cops around. 

“Essie, you have to obey traffic laws—” Cait starts in. 

“I don’t give a fuck about traffic laws,“ I snark back. I’ve got a one track mind right now, and that’s not good for a telepath, I think. 

This is the quietest my mind’s been in a while. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

We cross over the bridge. The Mississippi River’s pretty quiet this time of night, but it’s still freaking massive and I don’t like having to go over it. But Barry’s on the other side. 

“Turn right up here. It’s the ironworks factory.” 

I do as I’m told and I screech to a halt; Caitlin lets out an audible cry when I throw it in park, but I can’t bring myself to comment. 

I’m already halfway inside, and Cisco is tromping behind me. 

“God, you’re so loud, be quiet—” I start, but the two of them start calling out his name. I scan the place and there’s no one here besides us. This Tony Woodward is long gone, and Barry’s in here somewhere. 

But I can’t read his thoughts. He doesn’t have any to read. 

I hope we’re not too late. 

I find a pile of molten iron. It’s cold now, but there are footprints leading out of it. Tony Woodward’s footprints, I assume. 

I pull up part of his footprint. I’m sure Cisco could analyze the metal or something. Maybe figure out a way to stop this guy. 

“Caitlin—Essie, over here!“ Cisco calls out. 

He’s running towards an overturned shelving unit. It looks too familiar to me. I get over there, and I see Barry’s fingers twitching from their metal prison. 

Cait gasps. “Please, say something! Say something so we know you’re okay—” 

I roll my eyes. I love Cait, don’t get me wrong, but I’m already getting painful, incoherent thoughts from Barry. He’s fine, he’s not feeling good at all, but he’s fine, somewhere beneath the rubble. I push past Caitlin and start helping Cisco pull debris away from Barry. Cisco unceremoniously pulls Barry partially out, and he lets out a slight groan. 

“Ow.“ 

“Well, get him out of there!” Cait says, not taking her eyes off Barry. She’s taking stock of his wounds. He’s got a giant gash on his face, and he’s not going to feel very good for a while, but I think he’s fairly okay. I’m desperate to get him out, though, regardless of how he feels. 

“Cisco, grab the edge of the shelves,“ I say, scooting down towards Barry’s feet. “On three, we’ll turn it. One. Two—” _Three_ and we both use our entire body weight to toss the unit over. Barry gasps for breath as soon as we do. 

I kneel down next to him, dusting off some off the dirt and dust and iron shavings from his chest absentmindedly. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get out of here,“ he groans. 

I toss the van keys to Cait, and she catches them out of the air overhanded. I’m slightly impressed. She gives me a little smirk before running off to get the van. 

I don’t have time to deal with her right now, I can manage her later—I take hold of Barry’s arm, and with Cisco’s help, we get him to his feet. I draw his arm around my shoulders—he’s tall enough it doesn’t take a lot—and I grasp the other side of his waist. He leans into me just enough and I see he’s limping. 

“You got him?” Cisco says, holding out his hands, ready to help. 

“We’re good,“ I say quickly, reaching up with my free hand to take Barry’s hand in mine. “Go steal the keys from Caitlin or else we’re going to be in Keystone until morning.” 

Cisco gives me a slight glare, and I can see the start of a smile in the moonlight from the high windows before he runs off after her. 

“Thanks for coming after me,“ Barry mutters through a split lip. I look at his hand in mine, and his knuckles are covered in blood. My fingers are too. 

“I’ll pretend like what you did was stupid, but I’d have done the same thing,” I say. “But you are lucky to be alive.” 

“I’m sick of people telling me that.“ 

“Then stop getting yourself into death-defying situations,” I say. He lets out a short laugh, it’s more like a heavy exhale, but I think it counts. Although it makes him cringe. 

“You know Wells is going to straight up murder your ass, discover time travel just to murder your ass again, right?“ 

Barry tries to say no, but he starts laughing instead. 

“I can’t even stop this guy. He just straight up punches me and I’m toast.” 

“Well, I think I have the answer for you,“ I say, pulling him through the door and into the outside. They’ve got the van running already and waiting. “You need to stop thinking like Barry Allen, the 5th grader and start acting like Barry Allen, the hero. Sometimes what needs to be done isn’t the safest or the best thing, but that’s the problem: it has to be done. And you can do it.” 

* * *

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking?“ Dr. Wells announces. He announces quite loudly. “I told you we would figure out a way to deal with him!” 

Cait finishes up cinching up Barry’s gash on his face, but it’s futile: it’s already nearly healed. 

I stand with Cisco near the computers and outside of Wells’ wrath. I lean my head on Cisco’s arm, and he pulls me into a half-embrace. He knows I’m tired and thinks I should get some sleep, but I know it’s not going to happen. Not on a night like this. 

“I’ll heal,“ Barry says, rubbing his forehead. 

“You can’t heal when you’re dead. He could have killed you,” Wells says, turning away from Barry as he leaves Cait’s makeshift office. I can literally taste Barry’s anger. 

“I know, all right? I know! In the past thirty-six hours, I’ve had my ass handed to me twice by the guy that tortured me as a kid. I couldn’t stop him then, and I can’t stop him now! Even with my powers, I’m still powerless against him.“ 

“Not… necessarily,” Dr. Wells draws out. “Cisco?” 

Cisco leaves me and runs back to his computer with purpose. 

“Any material, if struck at a high enough velocity, can be compromised,“ Wells continues. 

“We ran an analysis on the metal in Tony’s footprint—the sample Essie grabbed,” Cisco begins. “Based on its density and atomic structure, if you impact it at just the right angle, at just the right speed, you could do some serious damage.” 

“How fast would I have to go?“ Barry’s tense, his hands tight against his hips. He’s aware of Cait’s glare on him and it’s making him more and more anxious. 

“Factoring in the metal’s tensile strength, estimated dermal thickness, atmospheric pressure, air temp, you’d have to hit him at approximately Mach 1.1,” Cisco says. 

Barry lets out a laugh of disbelief. 

“You want Barry to hit something at 800 miles an hour?“ Cait says in her typical disbelieving tone. 

“837, actually,” Cisco corrects. 

“That’s faster than the speed of sound.“ 

Where Cait sounds terrified, Cisco sounds hopeful and downright excited. 

“I know. He would create a sonic boom, which, as I’ve said before, would be awesome.” 

I let out a laugh because he kisses his fingertips and lets them explode in the air in happiness. 

“I’ve never gone that fast.“ I need to lean over, I’m getting so much residual fear from Barry, so I grab for the computer bay hoping no one notices. 

“Yet,” Wells adds. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually entertaining this idea. I mean, he’d need a straight shot from miles away!“ Caitlin says. 

Wells just lifts his hand to allow Cisco to answer. 

“Yeah. 5.3 miles, theoretically.” 

“Do it right, you’ll take him down.“ 

“Do it wrong, you’ll shatter every bone in your body.” 

Wells and Cait give varying consequences, but I already know what Barry’s going to choose. 

And just like that, the conversation is over; each person goes off in a different direction. 

“You look like you could use a drink,“ I say, sauntering over to Barry. 

“It’s not going to help anyways,” He says. With a flash of light, he switches back into his street clothes. He does cringe in the meantime. 

“What do you mean? Alcohol solves a hell of a lot of problems.“ 

“Too fast of a metabolism,” he explains. “I can’t get drunk.” 

“That is—I mean—wow. Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.“ 

“It’s fine. It’s not fine, actually, but I can manage.” 

“Wanna get some food, then? I know you have to eat. Like, a lot. I can order six pizzas now and have them to my apartment by the time we get there. Seriously. You need to eat. I could basically pick you up myself. Plus, you’re wounded. You need comfort food.“ 

He laughs like he has no choice in the matter. 

“Okay, okay. If you’re buying the pizzas, I’m in.” 

“And they say chivalry is dead.“ 


	7. Hourglass

**Sunday, Oct. 19, 2014 / 11:14 p.m. **

I finish up my case files from the week. It’s been a long week, for sure. I have to smile, though—the man I helped, the one they brought in for murder? They found the real killer and he was released. 

Another one down. Like I said before, it’s not as fast, it’s not as loud, but I can help people too. 

I wonder what Barry’s doing tonight. I mean, it’s almost midnight, but he’s going to be out and about. 

I hear a gunshot. I hear screaming. 

The lights suddenly go out. Not this again. I can’t have this again. I look outside. It’s dark. I mean, it’s all dark. Everything is dark. A citywide power outage. What the hell— 

I reach out, trying to see if he’s in the building, and something feels horribly wrong. I taste salt and anxiety and burnt plastic and it all makes my heart start racing. 

I pull my Sig Sauer from the holster in my desk drawer and head for the hallway. Hey—I’ve got to be registered and carry, too—I just choose typically not to. 

But when I hear gunshots, I’m not going to bring mind control to a gunfight. 

It’s late so most everyone was in the bull pen. I kick off my heels in the doorway to my office and drop low, crawling behind the half-wall of the balcony in the shadows. 

I crouch down at the top of the stairs. Singh’s voice is already coming through on a walkie yelling Tockman. I can hear a voice in the darkness: 

“I am presently in control of eight of Central City’s finest, three underpaid assistants, and one very brave civilian girl.” 

I see them, all handcuffed and sitting in a circle in front of the “Truth, Liberty, Justice” relief. 

Fuck. Iris is down there. I cringe; I can feel all their chaotic thoughts. I try not to breathe too heavily. Slow down, or he’s going to hear you. He’s going to hear you— 

Singh: “You’ve got demands; I want to hear them. But first, let the civilians go.” 

“Would you, uh, prefer I send them out alive or dead? Please be more specific. One! Helicopter. One! Vegetarian takeout meal. One! Laptop with eight gigabytes of RAM will be delivered on this roof at exactly 53 minutes and 27 seconds from now, or I shoot a hostage.“ 

I look through the railing. From the other side of the room, I see Eddie. He’s got his gun aimed at Tockman. West slightly shakes his head, and Eddie drops back below the desk where he was hiding. 

I wish he knew about my powers. It would make things so much easier. 

But Joe does. Joe does— 

“There is a citywide blackout. I’m going to need more time,” Singh says on the walkie. 

“Captain. You may delay but time will not,“ Tockman articulates. 

“Benjamin Franklin,” West recalls. He scans the room. I think he can feel me searching. 

“Very good, detective.“ 

I don’t know what else to do, so I invade his mind. I push forward, I push inside, and his wall gives once I think he realizes it’s me. 

_Price? Is that—_

_It’s me, West. Don’t look. Second floor balcony, your one o’clock._

_ You got your piece?_

_ I do, but I’m shit at this angle and you know it._

He’s scanning up here visually, so I reach my hand up into the light and twiddle two fingers. He sees me. _Can you do anything… else?_

_ I can try to get into his mind, but I’m afraid he’s going to find me out. Try to stall him until I can figure something out._

_ Roger that._

I lean back against the wall, tightly grasping my gun. I can do this. 

God, Barry, where are you? 

Tockman is pacing. He has no idea. He has no idea who he’s got in here. God, where the hell is Barry? 

West clears his throat after what feels like ages. “End this now, and I’ll talk to the D.A.,” He tries. I peek over the wall. Tockman looks back from the window wistfully. 

“It was your district attorney that denied me furlough so I could visit my dying sister one last time, say goodbye to her in person.“ He freaks and yells. West nods to Eddie. It’s not a good idea. Don’t do it Eddie—”That’s time I’ll never get back! So however long I have in this life, I promise not one second more will be spent in a prison cell.” 

I almost yell out, because I suddenly know what Eddie’s going to do— 

One gunshot into Tockman, and Eddie’s too confident—Tockman whirls and hits Eddie twice. Tockman’s got a vest. He’s got a vest, and Eddie’s been shot. 

Tockman gently picks up the walkie talkie. 

“An officer was just shot 9.2 seconds ago. I’d pick up the pace in meeting my demands, Captain.“ 

I try to push out. If I do it now, if I can try to connect with Eddie, maybe I could take some of his pain. I’ve never tried it without touching someone, but even a little would be helpful. 

He deserves it. He doesn’t deserve bleeding out on the precinct tile in front of the golden relief that touts justice. 

I reach out. I push out in little tendrils, like tiny fingers, from my place near West. I slip downwards. I slip across the floor and I feel myself across Eddie’s skin, invisibly dancing across the blood and the gunshot wound until I find myself seeping into his mind. 

I soak in like a liquid to a sponge. I try not to reach anything besides his pain. I can do this. I hold my breath. I can’t grasp anything else; I have to only find his pain and past his constant mutterings of _Iris_ I actually find it. I find it without touching his hand. I find it and with a burst of pain in my arm, in my chest, I take as much as I can without taking his wound. He struggles a bit, he coughs, I can feel his lungs fighting against his pain, but I bite my lip. I can take it. I have to take it— 

I exhale loudly just as a hostage sneezes. It hurts, God, does it hurt, but Eddie’s ragged breathing is a little more regular. 

I look down from my spot. From the balcony, the hostages are all sitting cross-legged in a circle around Eddie. Tockman deliberately walks over to the staircase and sits down about halfway up. I scramble down the balcony towards the other stairwell a little further without alerting him to my presence. 

“Please, he’s bleeding,” Iris says. Her voice shakes. “You have to let us get him some help.” 

“You’ll stay where you are.“ Tockman points his gun at Iris. 

I think he saw me. I know he had to. He’s looking right at me. I shut my eyes tightly. I don’t know how that will help, but it seems to slow my breathing. 

“And while you’re killing time, he’s bleeding out,” West adds over Eddie’s gasps for breath. 

“As if you could kill time without wounding eternity,“ Tockman says with as much pretension as he can. 

“Henry David Thoreau.” 

“Ooh, good,“ he mutters before approaching Eddie. He undoes his tie, places it around his arm. ”Battlefield trick.” Tockman pushes a finger into Eddie’s bullet wound, making him scream. I can feel it like a finger pushing against my arm. Eddie is mentally calling for Iris—”If he lives long enough to receive medical treatment, they’ll know the exact time the tourniquet was applied. What? No thank you?“ 

“They call you the Clock King, right?” Iris asks. 

“A somewhat florid appellation, but I’ve grown to see the humor in it.“ 

“You’re going back to prison.”  
“Really? How do you reckon?“ He says humorously. 

“Because the Flash is coming.” 

He just leaves her be and I read her lips— “Where are you?” 

For real. Something has gone wrong with Barry. I know it has. 

With Tockman’s back turned, though, Iris and West make eye contact. He nonchalantly looks up to the balcony, and she leads her eyes up to where I’m crouched. Her and I make eye contact. 

I hear the helicopter landing on the roof. 

Tockman checks his watch with flair. “Early. You ever seen the city at night by helicopter? It’s quite spectacular,” he whispers in Iris’s ear. 

Tockman bodily grabs Iris— 

“Tockman, no!“ West says. “Don’t do this, not here. Take me, please.” 

“Something tells me you will not be a docile passenger. She will!“ 

“Dad. Dad—” 

“Wait! Wait. Let her say goodbye.“ Tockman is suddenly listening. “This is her boyfriend lying here dying, and I think you and me both know that he probably won’t make it. It’s wrong that you didn’t get to say goodbye to your sister. Give them what you deserved.” 

He barely thinks about it before un-handcuffing her. 

“You have 20 seconds.“ 

She leans down to kiss him, and then Tockman starts dragging her away. Away, and upstairs. Past me. Past me, where I could most likely be seen. 

I tuck my Sig Sauer in my skirt waistband. I’m an idiot. Why do I get myself into these situations? 

It’s not that far to fall to the balcony. If I can make it over silently, and quietly drop, he may not see me. 

Or—or there’s another way. 

I know I only have one chance to make this work, and it didn’t even work the last time. I don’t even know how. I have to, though, or I’m going to die. 

It’s that simple. 

I close my eyes, I take a deep breath, and I push into Tockman’s mind. He doesn’t feel me there, and suddenly I know why: I hear loud ticking. Loud, obnoxious clicking that could only be from a large grandfather clock. He doesn’t even know I’m here. 

I quickly find his occipital lobe and lock in. Suddenly I’m seeing in double vision—my vision and his. It’s jarring. It’s making me dizzy. He’s looking this way— 

But in his vision, he sees nothing. He sees air. Iris doesn’t see me, thankfully; that would be so much more drama to discuss— 

And they’re suddenly gone. 

It gets harder and harder to hold onto his mind, and I drop out. I realize I could have done so much, I could have stopped him, I could have brought him down, but not with Iris there. Not with him holding a gun to her head. 

Tick-tock. 

But as I look down, I see in her hand—a pistol. It was Eddie’s, from his ankle holster. 

Well played. 

I nearly jump the stairwell. Tick-tock, it’s still echoing inside my head. 

“Price, what the hell?!” He hisses, and the others start shifting their weight impatiently. I find the universal key to the handcuffs and undo his first, then hand the key off. He wants to go to Eddie, but I point him towards the walkie. 

“Get Singh.“ 

He actually does as he’s told. I’m in business mode; I’m headed to Eddie first. West unlocks another hostage, who starts on the rest of them. 

“Eddie. Eddie, you’re going to be just fine,” I murmur, checking the tourniquet. It’s actually executed correctly. Not that I’ve done a lot of field triage, but I know enough at this point to be able to manage. 

Tick-tock, time’s running out. 

But his breathing is still labored. He’s terrified. I can taste it already. I can taste it before he grabs onto my wrist with his good hand. 

I try not to gasp but I feel the tears welling in my eyes. It’s stronger than it was before, from up in the balcony, but I can see it: I can see him and Iris, I can see his laughter, I can see how much he loves her. He wants her to be safe. That’s all he wanted—was for her to be safe. He tried, but he’s reckless, he shouldn’t have gotten cocky, he should have shot him again, again— 

I touch Eddie’s cheek with my free hand. It gives me some stability. It gives me enough that I can handle what he’s giving me. I know I shouldn’t, but I steal a bit more of his pain. I’m glad I’m holding onto him. 

A gunshot. 

West yells his daughter’s name. He looks to me in sheer bloody panic. His thoughts aren’t coherent, but they’re making me lose my touch on reality, they’re so strong. 

“West. West, please,“ I beg, and he seems to find himself again, for a moment. “I need you—breathe. Give me—give me a moment.” 

“You can—” 

I reach out, allowing the tendrils to reach higher and higher to a double digit floor. They moved quickly. Only one person is conscious. I reach into Tockman’s mind. It’s dark, save for tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. 

Iris shot him in the leg. 

“She got him,“ I gasp, whisper, towards West. “She’s fine.”  
He lets out the heaviest breath of air just as the S.W.A.T. team runs in. Tick-tock, someone, anyone, needs to help Eddie— 

I just hear the tick-tocking in my head, I can’t get it away— 

I head up the stairs. I don’t know where I’m going, tick-tock. To my office? To my office— 

I barely make it in, I’m flooded with pain in my shoulder, in my lungs, my leg, they’re burning like I can’t breathe enough. It’s West, it’s Eddie, it’s Tockman, they’re all inside and fighting their residual feelings like I can’t be myself. 

I pull my gun from the back of my waistband and set it on my lap. I only make it to my desk, on the floor, and I hear the running footsteps of people rushing to help the others. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here. 

Tick-tock, tick-tock. 22 minutes to get the helicopter here. Tick-tock. It’s nearly midnight now. Barely 45 minutes had passed for all that to happen. 

I can’t get him out. I can’t. Is this what it’s going to be like now? Living with this set of thoughts in my head? 

I’m cold. I’m freezing, and I can’t stop shivering. I’m too connected. I can’t break out of it. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Tick— 

Footsteps outside my door make a purposeful beat as they find themselves inside. I let my head lull until I can see who’s there. 

Barry has his hands extended, his eyes dropping to the gun in my hand. Tick-tock. Click-tock. 

“Essie, what are you doing—” 

I seem to have shut off the safety. Look at that. 

“They’re all inside my head, Barry. Eddie and West and Tockman. Eddie’s pain and West’s hysteria and Tockman’s sheer insanity, I can hear it. I can see it, I can feel it, I can taste it—” 

He kneels down next to me, away from the barrel of the gun, he puts his hand on mine and he’s warm, he’s so warm compared to my skin. He gently caresses his long fingers over mine, slowly unwraps my fingers from the Sig Sauer and I can’t even fight it. He clicks the safety back on and reaches up to place it on my desktop. I can only count the seconds it takes for him to do it. It should have been longer; I should have fought him. 

“There was one before me,“ I start. I don’t know what I’m saying. I hear myself say it, distantly, without inflection. “I know about her. Bette Sans Souci. The metahuman before me that actually didn’t want to kill you. She died. Is that going to happen to me? I don’t—I don’t want to end up like her. I don’t want to end up like Tockman. I—I—” 

He shakes my shoulders once, quickly, roughly. “Essie. Snap out of it!”  
I take a long, deep, shaky breath, and once I exhale it, although it makes me lightheaded, I don’t hear the ticking anymore. I’m so cold. I’m so cold, and I can’t stop shivering. 

“I didn’t know what to do. Eddie was bleeding, and Iris, and Joe, and I’m a metahuman but I didn’t know what to do,“ I whisper. He has tears in his eyes, but he’s nodding, he’s affirming my fear, he’s saying it’s fine, it’s normal, I was scared, I’m still human. He holds my cheek in his hand, and I see blood on my hands, and I know it’s Eddie’s and I suddenly start crying. I can’t stop. I just—I need to let it out. I need to cry, and he knows it. 

He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into his lap. I bury my face in his shoulder. He lets it happen. He lets me cry, and he holds me tight until I first stop shivering, then stop crying. He holds me there until I somehow fall asleep. 


	8. Scars

**Thursday, October 24 / 3:12 p.m. **

I stare down at the empty mug in my hands. The lingering warmth is helpful. I haven’t been able to stay warm for days. 

Caitlin seems to think it was residual… something from Tockman. That I shouldn’t have gone in. But I had to. I know I had to, whether it helped or not. 

I know for sure it helped Eddie. West told me he probably wouldn’t have been alive if I didn’t help him. He would have stopped breathing, but he didn’t. He didn’t because of me. 

I feel a hand on the small of my back and I jump. Iris jumps too. 

“Oh. Sorry. Sorry, I—” 

She gives me a small smile. “I know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have scared you. Do you want more coffee?” 

I just give her my mug and nod. Now I have nowhere to put my hands, but she swiftly comes back with a steaming mug and doesn’t leave. She stands there, silently. 

“How’s Eddie?“ I ask at the same time she says “Thank you.” 

Then it’s awkward again, so I break the silence. “For what?” 

“Eddie, actually. He’s doing a lot better. My dad said you did a lot to help him once I was… gone,“ she explains. “He actually said… he said Eddie wouldn’t be alive without you.” 

“I don’t know about that,“ I backpedal. “I mean, I just did what anyone would do. He needed help. And quite frankly, I like the guy. I didn’t at first, I thought he was kind of a pretentious asshole, you know, the jock type, but once I really got to know him I saw him for the truly awkward cupcake he is. I’m ranting. I’m sorry. I should just accept the thanks.” 

She just opens her arms and she doesn’t wait very long for me to complete the hug. She clutches tightly to me, and I feel her admiration, her relief, her… her hope. Did I give that to her? 

“Aww, this is cute,“ Cisco says, sliding into the seat next to me. Once Iris lets me go, she pushes her hair back and points to Cisco. “The usual.” 

“You know it.“ 

She turns to Cait, who just nods to Iris. We all have our regular drinks here at Jitters. Is that good or bad? 

“How are you doing?” Cait immediately asks. 

“The headaches are gone, but I’m still cold,“ I say. “I’m managing.” 

“What did you want to tell us about?“ Cisco asks, leaning forward on the table. 

“About the other day. I made Tockman hallucinate.” 

“How?“ Cait asks. She’s got that skeptical look on her face. 

“I jumped into his mind, I… I found his occipital lobe,” I recall. I sound like I’m asking a question, but that’s what I did. That’s what I felt like I had to do. “I just… I didn’t fight it. It was like my mind already knew what to do.” 

“You let your powers taken control. You stopped fighting what you could do and instead let it become part of you,“ Cisco says defiantly. “This is something we know a little bit about.” 

“Oh, yeah?“ 

Cait gives Cisco a side-glance, like he wasn’t supposed to mention anything, but repositions herself in her seat and changes the subject deftly. “We did want to talk to you about something.” 

“Without Barry?“ I add. “I know. It’s a touchy subject with him, isn’t it? Bette. Or Plastique.” 

They both look down at their hands like they didn’t expect me to know. 

“You tried to help her, and she died in the process. I picked it up from some of the conversations I accidentally overheard. And you’re constantly comparing her to me, because I came so quickly after her, and Barry wants to include me on the team. Permanently.“ 

“It’s not that I don’t think you should join,” Cait immediately says. “I’m… I’m…” 

“You’re wary. You have something good going on and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want more people to get hurt. I get it, Cait. I understand more than you think. And I know you would have me around without discussion, Cisco.“ He gives me a small grin. “But what has Barry said?” 

“He’s voiced his support,“ Cisco says. He only barely hides the rest of his smile behind the coffee that Iris brings us. 

I know there’s something else hiding behind his comment, but I don’t pry. 

“So, Cait, why exactly are you so wary, and who’s Eiling?” 

And that makes her face pale. I feel the anxiety in the room double. 

“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked…?“  
“General Wade Eiling,” Cisco says. He leans forward and whispers, like it’s a conspiracy. “He… he was working with Dr. Wells on some projects for the military. He—he wanted to… make metahumans, more or less.” 

“What did he want? What was he looking for?“ 

“Mind control,” Cait says with finality. “He wanted mind reading and mind control for his soldiers. What he got was a girl who couldn’t control that whatever she touched would become ash.” 

I suddenly can’t really finish my coffee. It just makes my stomach roil. 

“So we just make sure Eiling never finds out about me,“ I whisper. 

“We can only hope,” Cait says. 

“So what about this mugger?“ I say, hopelessly changing the subject again. “He’s disappeared.” 

“Yeah, just what we need—a terrifying metahuman the size of a fridge with spikes like an orc disappearing right before Halloween.“ Cisco takes a long drink from his coffee. He suddenly looks like he needs it. 

“That’s another hurdle we’ll jump over when we get to it,” Caitlin says. 

“But why? Why would he go out and then disappear? What’s his endgame?“ I muse. I can’t seem to let it go, really. Something feels off about this entire situation and I can’t begin to explain it, which makes it ten times worse. This, on top of the hostage situation, and trying to figure out my powers, and trying to tell Barry how long I’ve been visiting him, along with the metahuman thing, but this mugger—where the hell is he? Why did he have blue eyes, and why did he walk away from me the first time? He had a perfect opportunity to kill me, but he didn’t. Why— 

“Would you quiet down over there, Professor X?” Cisco says, rubbing his temple. 

“Wait, what?“ 

“You’re being very loud,” Cait says. “Not out loud. I mean, in your mind.” 

“Barry was right when he said you project,“ Cisco says offhandedly. 

“I don’t project—” 

“That would be lying to yourself,“ Cisco articulates. “You want to get into this conversation?” 

“Sorry, what are you talking about?“ 

“Halloween. I’ve got my costume. I’m going as Captain Mal Reynolds from—” 

”_Firefly?_ For real? That’s going to be perfect,“ I say, happy for the distraction. “You’ve got the brown coat, right?” 

“I’m not a newb. I know what I’m doing,“ he scoffs. 

“Cait, what about you?” 

She sips from her coffee and shrugs. “Oh, my usual.” 

“She’s got a cat costume she wears every freaking year,“ Cisco groans. “Can’t you mix it up? Like, be a witch for once?” 

“We’ve got enough magical things to deal with, don’t you think?“  
Cisco just harrumphs. “Tried to get her to be Elsa, too, but that didn’t fly.” 

Cait rolls her eyes. 

“So what are you going to be?“ Cisco asks me. 

“I—uh, what do you mean?”  
“What are you dressing up as?“ Cisco re-articulates. 

“Oh. I really don’t do Halloween.” 

“You don’t ‘do’ Halloween?“ Cisco says. He’s offended but it’s making me giggle a little. 

“Sorry, Russians don’t really celebrate Halloween.” 

“Wait, you’ve never been trick-or-treating?“ He asks. He’s even more offended now. I’m a little frightened. 

So I just shrug and shake my head. 

“Caitlin. She’s never been trick-or-treating. She’s never gone. This—this is a travesty!”  
“You broke Cisco,“ Caitlin says. 

“Oh, you need a costume. You definitely need a costume. What are you thinking? What do you want to dress up as? You need one for the party.” 

“We’re going to a party…?“ 

“Yes! We’re already going downtown for the bar crawl!” 

“The bar crawl?“ I turn to Caitlin for help, but she just facepalms. “Well, what is everyone else wearing?” 

“Barry hasn’t told us yet,“ Cisco says. “So it’s gotta be good. Hey, Iris!”  
Iris comes back over after helping a customer. “What?” 

“You and Eddie are coming with us for Halloween, right?“  
She grins widely. “Of course.” 

“Essie’s trying to figure out what to wear for her first Halloween,“ he says. “What are you and Eddie wearing?” 

“We’re going as Cinderella and Prince Charming,“ she says, giving me a little curtsy with her apron. She hears her name from behind the counter, then takes her leave to help in the back. 

“See? This is what you have to work with,” Cisco says. “The world is yours.” 

“I don’t really care, Cisco,“ I sigh. “It’s just a holiday.” 

“Just—just a—just a holiday?!“  
“Okay, okay, fine, if it makes you feel any better, find me something. I wear a size six dress, I like blue and green, and I want something fancy.” 

He looks taken aback and excited and a little overwhelmed. “You want me to pick out your Halloween costume.” 

“Yes, that’s what I just said.“ 

“You’re serious?” 

“Size six. Blue or green. I’m short, too, remember that.“ 

He grabs my arms in his hands, kisses me on the cheek and hops off his seat. “I need to go. I have work to do.” 

Cait sighs loudly as Cisco runs out of Jitters excitedly. 

“You just did something amazing and awful all in one go,“ Cait says. “He’s going to be happy for weeks.” 

I shrug. If it makes him that damn happy, then I’ll let him have the moment. 

“Well, I’ve got to get going. I have some work to do back at the lab,“ Cait says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” 

“Of course,“ I say offhandedly. “I need to find Barry anyways. I’ve got something to give him.”  
“Oh, you do, now?“ Cait says. She barely smiles, but I can see something stirring behind her eyes. I decide not to pry. It’s better sometimes if I don’t know. 

“Oh, Detective West broke his favorite mug the other day,” I explain. “When his powers went away? I found him a replacement.” 

“Did that take you a while?“ 

“I had to track it down, but I eventually found it. Why?” 

“No reason.“ 

* * *

I saunter up to the door of Barry’s lab. I hadn’t seen him more than in passing in several days, and while I didn’t want to pry, I didn’t want it to be because of me. 

I mean, things have been rough lately. He saw me with a gun in my lap. 

I hold the coffee I brought from Jitters almost too tightly in my hand, and it’s starting to burn my fingertips. 

He stares at his corkboard at what seems to be a case he’s working on, one hand on his mouth, the other supporting his elbow. He looks tired. No, he looks utterly exhausted. 

“You look like you could use some company.” 

He jumps, like I’ve broken him out of some sort of trance. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you. God, you think I would know better—“ 

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he mutters, pulling down part of the board. He’s hiding whatever’s under there from me. 

“Cream, no sugar,” I say, handing the Styrofoam cup to him. He opens his mouth—probably to ask me how I knew—then snaps it shut when he remembers I’m a telepath. 

I appropriate his chair since he’s not sitting in it and tuck my legs underneath my skirt. 

“I’m sorry for the other day,“ I begin. “I know how bad it looked, but I just lost control—” 

“I know. I should have been here, but you know what happened at the lab. Everything just happened at once,“ he sighs. 

“At least you’re back,” I say quietly. “Your powers, I mean.” 

He lets out an affirmative harrumph. 

“So, I’ve been convinced to go on this Halloween bar crawl.“ 

“Oh, yeah?” He says. He grins and it makes me that much happier. 

“Cisco’s picking out my costume. I’m hopeless on that sort of thing.“ 

“Right, Russians don’t celebrate Halloween,” he says like it’s something he already knew. 

“But they won’t tell me what costume you’re wearing,“ I add. 

“They don’t know,” he states with a grin. 

“Why not?“ 

“It’s a little secret.” 

“I could read your mind right now and figure it out.“ 

“But you wouldn’t.” 

“No, I wouldn’t.“ 

“It’s a good one. You have to trust me.” 

“I do,“ I immediately say. 

He lets out another sigh. I know I shouldn’t say anything, I know I should keep my mouth shut but I can’t. I just can’t. 

“Barry, I wanted to talk to you about something. I saw something… in your mind. When I transferred your wounds back.” 

“You seem to know everything else,” he says, slightly in agitation and slightly in jest. His grin suddenly falls. 

“I… I, uh—saw your mother,” I say, peering purposefully at his Chuck Taylors. “I just wanted to tell you that I knew. I didn’t think it was fair to know without you knowing that I knew. I didn’t mean to, I swear; in high stress situations like that, sometimes it crosses over.” 

He just sets down his coffee cup and stares back at his board, now covered with something else, another open case. 

“Someone killed her, and my dad’s in jail for her murder.” 

I gathered as much, but I let him go. I don’t need to be a know-it-all right now. 

“I think—I know I’m nearly to figuring out what exactly happened to her, but there are so many other things…” he drifts. “You don’t want to hear all about that.” 

“I do if you want to tell it. If not, I don’t need to hear it.” 

“You’ll find out about it anyways,” he snaps, running another hand over his face. 

“Barry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry my situation is different than yours, I just can’t help what I overhear sometimes—“ 

“I know, but it’s frustrating.” 

“Don’t you think it’s frustrating for me?” I say, feeling the heat rising in my face. “I have to keep a constant mental guard up just so I can get some sleep. I haven’t slept more than four hours a night, because if my neighbors fight, I get their thoughts, I get their emotions through the walls. And up until about two weeks ago, I didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. No one. You’ve had a team from the start. I’ve been alone in all this, trying to train myself and trying to shut out all the noise. It’s enough to make a girl nuts. So a little empathy would be nice.” 

“Essie, you have too much empathy. That’s what gets you into these situations.” 

“I really hate you right now. Is that less empathy for you?“ 

He runs both his hands over his hair, and it spikes up a little bit from the mistreatment. “You scared the hell out of me. You had a gun in your hand. You were ready to shoot something because you used your power a little too long, or held on a little too strong. I was afraid you were going to shoot yourself. And you could have. And although I can’t read minds, I think you thought about it.” 

“I did think about it,“ I say. I let the tears well in my eyes. “I did, but I wasn’t myself. Tockman—” 

“I know. Tockman was inside your mind. But you have to learn how to let go of it. You have to learn to let your power grow but you can’t let it get out of control. The moment you let it control you is the moment you lose who you are.“ 

I pace; I look out his open door and I see the damn golden relief smiling down on the tile and the bullpen. It’s where Eddie almost died. It’s where we all could have died. 

I can hear Tockman’s voice. I can still hear him, and I can hear the tick-tocking that went on inside his mind. It’s sick. It’s making me feel sick, and I can hear West’s scream for Iris when we hear the gunshot. I can see Eddie’s blood on my hands. 

I should have done more, damn my own safety. I could have stopped him long before he shot Eddie. I could have, but I didn’t. 

The air is knocked out of me. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, and for the first time, I taste hysteria. The mixture of pain, anger and anxiety tastes like copper and cilantro—it dries out my mouth so quickly it hurts. 

Who did I read? I didn’t touch anyone. There’s not a good reason for me to be feeling like this. 

Unless it’s from myself. 

The tick-tock noises shift faster, like time has suddenly sped up. I can’t really see; everything is a blur until I feel shaking— 

“Listen to me, Essie. In through your nose, out through your mouth—listen to me. Do what I say.” 

I try to breathe, but I end up shivering and heaving in another shallow breath. 

“What’s—what’s happening?” 

“I think you’re having a panic attack. Essie, you’re fine. You’re in the present. You’re not there anymore. Tockman is put away.“ 

My breathing gets worse. I can’t stop. 

With one hand on my shoulder, he moves the other to brush my hair out of my eyes. It steadies me. 

“Look at me. Just look at me.” 

I do. They’re a brilliant hazel-grey. I’ve never noticed that before. He’s usually moving too fast for me to notice. His mouth barely twitches into a smile. 

He drops his hands from my face and shoulder, but I don’t look away. Instead, he finally gives me a smirk. 

“That got you to breathe, didn’t it?” 

I’m not sure that it did. 

The pain, the fear, the anxiety is gone but something else entirely remains. I realize now he’s holding tightly to my hand. As he lets go, he looks down at my palms. He traces his thumb over the line on my left hand—from the bottom of my thumb down to my wrist—the one that’s clearly not a hereditary crease. 

A scar from the glass. 

He pulls me gently to my feet, allowing me to hold onto his arm for stability. I try to pull away from him, but instead, I find myself gravitating back towards him. I’m hugging him before I can even control myself, and he wraps his arms around me, forcing me bodily to stop shaking. 

I stay there until I can breathe slowly again. I let go, I find my purse. 

“I’m… I’m going to go lay down in my office.” 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?“ He asks, taking a tentative step towards me. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” 

I try to find my I.D. so I can open my office, and as I root around inside my purse, I find the mug I had brought him. Instead of presenting it to him, I set it on his desk. 

I don’t say a thing as I brush past him and leave his office, although I get a strange taste in my mouth as I do: hot chocolate on a winter day with a dash of peppermint. 


	9. Definitions

**Friday, Oct. 31, 2014 / 8:34 p.m. **

Somehow my apartment was volunteered as the best place to start our Halloween bar crawl. I mean, it might have something to do with the fact that I’m practically downtown, but I digress. 

I had also managed to coax Caitlin over to my place early. I also promised hard cider, so that helped. I was on my third glass of vodka before she was done with one, but she was already getting rosy cheeks by the time I accosted her about her costume. 

“Okay, so show me what you’ve got.“ 

She throws herself nearly over my bed to find her bag then pulls out a pair of black ears, black leggings, a black sweater and a pair of black flats. At the very end, she pulls out a long black item that I suppose is a tail. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no. We can do better than that.” 

Cait scoffs. “What do you mean, we can do better than this? This is my costume. This is what I wear every year. You cannot mess with tradition.” 

I throw open my closet doors and start searching. “Oh, we’re not changing it. We’re improving it.” 

“I do not want to be in anything… in anything…” 

She’s searching for a word, and I know what she’s looking for but she doesn’t want to say it. 

“Slutty?“ 

“Um, yes. Not slutty.” 

“How about something a little more sexy than a cardigan and a pair of leggings?“ 

“I would consider it.” 

I snap through my black dresses. I have one in mind, but I just have to find it. When I pull it out, I can’t help but cackle. 

“That’s frightening. Don’t do that.“ 

“Okay, but really, Cait—” I turn it around and she almost spits out her drink. It’s black, knee length, with off the shoulder sleeves. From the sleeves, it crisscrosses across the bust and has ruching across the seams. At the top, though, it has a high necked tank top in black mesh, and the left side has a triangle cut out, also covered in black mesh. 

“There’s no way. No way I could pull that off.“ 

“There’s only one way to find out.” I toss it at her and go back downstairs to refill my drink. When I come back upstairs with my glass and the bottle, she’s in the dress in front of the mirror, trying to figure out her life. 

“What the hell did I tell you?“ 

She turns around and looks at her ass, and I whistle a little. It makes her blush. 

“You’re wearing that instead,” I say definitively. “Sit down. I’m doing your hair.” 

She does as she’s told, because I hand her another cider and I’m wielding a curling iron. Within a few minutes, I’ve got her dark hair into a curled, side ponytail. I force her to stay sitting so I can give her a pair of cat eyes and a killer red lip. 

“What are you doing to me?“ 

“Art. This is fucking art.” 

“Can I at least wear my flats?“ 

“Of course, darling,” I say, setting her cat ears neatly on her head. I grab for the makeshift tail, and once she stands up, I pin it on the dress. 

“Holy…” 

“You can say it, you know.“ 

“Holy shit!” She finally exclaims, peering into the mirror excitedly. 

“I have a power.“ 

“More than your usual power?” She giggles, drinking from her cider. Chugging, actually. 

“Good thing I put lip stain on you.“ 

“Will it ever come off?” 

I hear a heavy handed knock on my door and I slide down my banister. “Let’s hope not!” 

When I make it to the door, Cisco stands outside with a heavy looking bundle wrapped in his brown coat. Otherwise, he’s wearing khakis, tall brown boots, a maroon dress shirt and suspenders. The addition of the pistol holster is quite amusing, to say the least. 

“Captain,“ I say as he shuffles his way inside. “You brought me something nice, I presume?” 

He dumps it on my couch and when he turns around, his jaw drops. Cait’s coming down the staircase. 

“Woah. Damn, Caitlin. I mean, you’re beautiful all the time, but damn.“ 

“Cisco, you’re my favorite, you know that?” 

I try to lift up part of the brown coat to see the costume he’s brought me, but he smacks my hand lightly. “No. I want to be a part of the reveal.” 

“Then hurry up!“ I see a bit of bright cerulean blue peeking out and it’s killing me slowly. 

“Okay! Okay. So impatient,” he mutters, unwrapping his coat. Whatever it is, it is damn bright blue. He seems to find the neckline of it so he can hold it up. “You requested a pretty dress, so here’s your pretty dress.” 

The basic shape has a slight off the shoulder neckline that tightens to the waist and flares out in an A-line skirt. The neck and the hem both sport a three inch wide trim that has a silver floral pattern, which also wraps the bicep and the edge of the wide bell sleeves. 

“Did you find me a fantasy princess dress?“ I hiss at Cisco, but he tosses a deeper blue corset at me. 

“Technically, it’s billed as ‘Medieval lady’, but—” 

“You found me a fantasy princess dress!“ 

“I found you a fantasy princess dress.” 

“Caitlin! To the bedroom!“ 

I rush past her, feeling the color in my cheeks, and head up to my bedroom again. I’m happy I already curled my hair. Maybe I should add a small braid along the top? And my makeup is a little over done and modern, but I’m not going to fix it now. I disrobe in front of Caitlin (she seems a bit uncomfortable but at this point I can’t bring myself to care) and slip on the dress. 

“What do you need me for?” 

“This corset. We’re making this happen.“ I fold it around my waist and adjust the silver laces in the front. It’s just tight enough, but I have Cait tighten it a little more. Once she does, I find my silver chain and pearl necklace my dad got for me when I was younger. It matches fairly well. 

I slip on a pair of boots and we head back downstairs, bobby pins in hand. 

“You ran away too fast,” Cisco complains. “Thought you might want this too.” 

He grasps the silver crown in both hands, bowing a bit as he hands it to me. The silver has Celtic knots etched into the band, and each peak ends in a single pearl. 

“This is perfect. Oh Lord, this is perfect.“ 

“Why don’t you ever buy me nice things?” Cait pretends to pout at Cisco. 

“You are a complex woman. Plus, I can’t buy you with shiny things. You can’t be bought. Essie can.“ 

“I heard you, but I’m not dignifying it with a response because I’m admiring my shiny thing.” 

“While you’re distracted, I’m going to answer the door,“ Cisco says, slipping on his coat. Cait just takes my bobby pins and begins braiding a tiny braid across the top of my head as Eddie and Iris find their way in. 

“You’re perfect. You are both flawless people. I just can’t.” I start with Eddie’s costume, which is literally a copy of Prince Charming’s royal ball outfit, complete with the gold epaulettes and the medal. I’ve never seen a man so proud to be wearing a costume from a Disney Princess movie. 

But Iris—she’s managed to find the classiest slutty version of the Cinderella dress ever. The dress is an exact copy, but instead of floor length, it hits exactly an inch above her knee. She’s got the most sparkly silver glitter high heels I’ve ever seen. 

I just hold up my hand like I’m going to say something, but I can’t, and Iris can’t stop laughing. 

“Tell me how you really feel, Essie,“ she says. “Besides, that dress is phenomenal.” 

“Isn’t it though?“ I say, spinning around as soon as Cait is done. My skirt flies out. “You realize it’s going to be cold tonight?” I say to Iris. She hasn’t thought to bring a coat. “Hang on. Wait here.” 

I run upstairs, root through my closet and I find what I’m looking for—a fur lined cape. I nearly trip coming down the stairs, but Iris just looks at me with wide eyes when I hold up the white, knee length item. 

“My mom wore this when her and my dad finally got married,“ I say. 

“I couldn’t,” she says, waving her hand at me, but I swing it around her shoulders anyway. 

“I don’t get to wear it, so you should!“ I say, and it looks pretty fantastic with her outfit. “I’ve changed my mind. Halloween is the best. I get to wear a pretty dress and pretty things with my pretty friends…” 

“Just how much has she pre-gamed?“ Eddie says to Cisco. 

“I don’t know. I showed up and she was like this.” 

Another knock at the door, and I already know it’s Barry. 

“Come in!“ I yell. “There better be a good reason for you to be late!” 

He opens the door, and from the dark of the hallway, the hooded Barry steps into the light carrying a bow and a quiver. 

“Are you fucking Robin Hood?“ 

He drops his hood and gives me a wide smile. 

“Okay, this is awesome, and we need a photo,” Cisco says. I pick up my phone and use the self timer, then position it on my counter top to take a good enough photo. We all squish in together and it takes a few flashes before I’m happy. 

“Are we going now? I look too hot to be in this apartment all Halloween!“ Cait calls out. Barry knows she’s already drunk and he rolls his eyes at Eddie. 

“Wait! I need my crown!” I say, reaching for it to put on my head. Cisco clamors for it before I can. 

“No. You have to wait. We have to have a ceremony.“ 

“What? Why—” 

“As your first Halloween, it must be done right!“ Cisco declaims, clearing his throat. “And since we have a member of the royal family here tonight, I think it’s only right that he completes the crowning.” 

Cisco hands the crown over to Eddie, who looks like a cross between not having any idea what to do with what has been handed to him and knowing he has been handed all the power in the room. It’s frightening, really. 

“Odessa Price—” 

“Dr. Odessa Price.“ 

“What are you, Jack Sparrow?” 

“Captain,“ Me, Cisco and Barry all say in unison. 

“Nerds,” Iris says in the same inflection. 

“Anyway. Please get down on one knee, I guess.“ 

“Say it with conviction, Prince Charming.” 

“I’m about to tell you to stop resisting.“ 

I do as I’m told. 

“With the power vested in me by… this motley crew of various fictional characters and a very lovely looking cat—” 

“Thank you.“ 

“—I declare you Queen.” He sets the crown on my head gently. “Go nuts.” 

I adjust it slightly before I link my arm through Barry’s, grab my keys and wallet, and head for the door. 

“Come, my loyal subjects! We have much imbibing to do!“ 

* * *

Third bar. It’s approximately 11 p.m. I have done many shots. I have to make sure my crown’s still on. Is it? Yep! 

“I’m the only adult in a group of children,” Eddie mutters. Barry lets out a single laugh. 

“Tell me about it.“ 

The self-declared fairly sober, they have reigned over us like lords of the field sobriety test. Barry wasn’t drinking, but Eddie was a little, and I don’t like his tone. 

“Oh, my God, Essie, you have to learn to keep your thoughts inside your brain,” Iris says, slurring. She sounds pretty damn drunk too, and her headband is slipping off her head. 

“Baby. Sweet honey child, come here,“ I whisper, ignoring her comments. She extricates herself from Eddie’s stabilizing grasp and I fix her headband, affixing it with one of the lost bobby pins that had shifted. 

She just scrunches her face at me. I lean forward and kiss her on the cheek. 

“Another round!” Cisco yells out, and he starts passing around shots of God knows what. I make sure Barry has a shot because he needs one. 

“You know I’m not drinking, right?“ 

I lovingly touch his cheek. “You don’t understand. You need one. It’s tradition, remember?” 

He can’t help but smile at me. It’s pretty damn adorable, with his little green hood. 

I raise my shot glass and eye the good looking group. 

“_N__a zdoróvʹje!"_

“What she said!” Cisco adds loudly. 

Cait looks like she’s going to die when she does the countless shot, but I down my and then Barry’s quickly before shimming over to Eddie. 

“I am not a child, you know,“ I whisper to him. “I’m a fully fledged adult. With a doctorate.” 

“Yeah, and I’m an adult. With a gun.“ 

“I have one,” I hiccup. “It’s in my desk.” 

“That’s a good place for it.“  
“I’m a psychologist!” I articulate loudly. “That’s pretty rich coming from a ‘grown man’ in a Disney prince costume.” 

“I’m damn proud of this getup, Price.“ 

“And you look mighty fine in it too!”  
“Are you hitting on me, or trying to insult me?“  
“Not hitting on. You are Iris’s. But I am appreciating your deoxyribonucleic acid makeup.” 

“That’s a no on the insult, then?“ 

“I really tried but you look so pretty, Eddie.” 

“Can we cut her off?“ He calls out to the group.  
“I don’t know if we have that power,” Cisco says. “You crowned her queen, remember?” 

“I am the Queen of this group!“ I say loudly, spinning into the middle of the circle. “And I say, we do another round!” 

“Didn’t we agree on a parliamentary system?“ Barry corrects. He’s being a shit. I can see it in his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Cisco says, nodding vigorously. “Let’s put this up to a vote.” 

“No more shots!“ Cait groans, and Iris just giggles, grabbing onto Eddie once more. He just shakes his head. 

“Yeah, no one is doing more shots,” Cisco says. “Sorry about your luck, Your Highness.” 

“You shall address me as Her Royal Highness, Queen of Central City, Odessa Alyona Mikhailovna Price, thank you, Captain!“ 

“Are you really going to—” 

“I am waiting.“ 

He just stares at me, looking completely unamused. 

“Fine. Fine. Duel!” I yell. I yell it several times until Barry shuts me up with a well placed hand across my mouth. I make a point to lick it. He doesn’t react or pull away, other than to give me a disgusted look. 

“Are you five?“ 

I mutter at him, but he doesn’t move his hand. 

“She’s not going to stop until we go outside and duel,” Cisco translates. I’m not even in his head this time. “I speak little brother,” he explains. 

“I’m tired of this bar anyway,“ Cait announces, grabs her coat and starts towards the door. 

With a flourish, I’m following her, eyeing Cisco over my shoulder. 

I run across the street and to the lovely, dark, green growth of Central City Park. It’s bustling right now with Halloween activity. 

“We’re going to do it here,” I exclaim, finding a nice clearing near the sidewalk. 

“What do you expect to get out of this fake duel?“ Eddie asks, clearly unsure of what he’s about to see. 

“Honey, she’s drunk off her ass,” Iris says. “Just let her have her fun.” 

“I’ll arrest her for public intox,“ he threatens. 

“No, you won’t,” she coos, pressing her finger to his lips before pulling it away and kissing him. 

I make gagging noises which happens to make Barry laugh. 

“Cait, you’re going to do the countdown,“ I explain. She looks frightened for a second. “You’re going to count the paces. Can you count to ten?” 

She looks up and her head bounces a little, and it takes her ten seconds to answer. “Yes. I can count to ten.” 

“You don’t even have a weapon!“ Cisco yells, spinning his plastic gun around on his finger. 

“Is that an Airsoft gun?” Eddie exclaims. 

“Yeah, dude. I’ve had it all night. And you call yourself a cop.“ 

“Betchya don’t have handcuffs hanging off that golden sash, Charming,” I say, eliciting a chorus of ‘ooo’s among our group. 

I’m enjoying this attention a little too much, I realize, and I don’t have a weapon— 

“Barry. Barry, darling. Light of my life.“ 

I bat my eyes in his direction. He looks to Iris, who can’t stop laughing behind her hand, and Caitlin, who has found herself sitting in the grass, picking through and trying to find four-leaf clovers. 

“What do you want, Essie?” 

“Could I borrow your bow?“ 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Absolutely yes,“ I add, sauntering up to him. It’s more of a shaky wobble. I’m trying to be sexy but it’s hard. Everything’s hard right now when there are approximately two Barrys in front of me. 

“Please! Please. Please. I will owe you.” 

He squints. “Anything?” 

“Anything.“ I draw the word out. “Well, maybe not anything. Within reason. Like human reason. Or metahuman,” I whisper quietly, conspiratorially. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m so going to regret this,” he says, taking off his quiver and handing it and the bow over to me. I slip on the quiver, pulling out an arrow and inspecting it and the bow. It’s not quite adult sized—like the ones I remember from camp—and the arrows have those cheap ass plastic tips. Still would hurt hitting you, though. I’m okay with that, if I could aim the damn thing. 

“Ten paces!“ Cait calls out. I start by facing Cisco and getting close to his face. 

“You’re goin’ down, Ramon.” 

“I don’t even remember why we’re having this duel,“ he stage-whispers to me, letting out a massive giggle. 

“Oh, Christ,” Eddie says, throwing his hands into the air. 

“Just let it happen,“ I say back to him. I manage to turn around just as Cait starts counting. I see out of the corner of my eye Iris shakily holding up her phone. She’s got to be taking a video. 

“Is that in preparation for the deposition?” Eddie asks. 

“Four!“ 

“Nope. Blackmail.” 

“Even better,“ he mutters. 

“Five!” 

“The best part about this whole thing is you’ve got Essie in a medieval gown with a bow and arrow and Cisco one part cowboy and the other part space captain,“ Barry adds conversationally. “You’re getting all this, right?” 

“Seven!“ 

“You missed six,” Cisco tells Cait. 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re past it now. We can’t go back. Eight!“ 

“May God have mercy on your soul!” I yell back to Cisco. 

“Nine!“ 

“Same to you!” 

“Ten!“ 

I spin around but I almost spin too far, trying to hold up the toy bow to aim at Cisco. 

“Stop wiggling, Ramon!” 

He draws his pistol, nearly drops it, then picks it up and aims. The airsoft pellets hit my side, and I can’t deflect them fast enough. I yell out in Russian. Thank God they don’t know what I just said. 

“I get to shoot! You have to let me shoot!“ 

He holds up his hands in victory and turns his back to me. 

I finally aim, and the arrow falls short at his feet. 

He just looks down at it dejectedly, and everyone loses their shit. 

I can’t even keep a straight face anymore. Cisco picks up the fallen arrow and makes a beeline for me, pulling me into a big, warm, Puerto Rican hug. 

“I love you, Cisco. I love you so much.” 

“Is this a truce? Are you calling a truce?“ 

“Yes, this is a truce,” I mutter into his warm jacket. “You make a really nice Malcolm Reynolds.” 

“You make a great Her Royal Highness, Queen of Central City, Odessa Alyona Mikhailovna Price.“ 

“He said the thing! Cisco said the thing, did you hear him say the thing?” 

They all kind of shake their heads and Cisco cackles. 

“And they’ll never believe you,“ he hisses, then breaks and starts giggling. 

I disconsolately hand over the bow and arrow to Barry, who unceremoniously takes them, as he’s busy trying to hold up Caitlin. 

I remember I didn’t bring a coat and it has to be below freezing by this point. I can’t even bring myself to care. I’ve had enough vodka I don’t really care about anything anymore. The trees are beautiful, the cityscape is beautiful, the sky is beautiful— 

I look up, and I’m suddenly seeing the black night sky. How did I get down here? 

It’s beautiful. It really is. I see only the brightest pinpricks of light from here, but I know if we leave the city it would get better. Sometimes I wish I lived out there, in the countryside, away from the drama in Central City, but then I remember what I have here. Who I have here. 

Barry interrupts my view of the stars, his heavy breath making little clouds of air. 

“Did you fall over?” 

“I did so gracefully and purposefully.“ 

“I doubt it was either of those things.” 

“I would think you would be correct.“ 

“Do you need help getting up?” He asks, holding out his hand. 

Instead of using him to pull myself up, I pull him down next to me. “What—what are you doing, Essie. We need to keep moving—” 

“Look at the stars with me!“ 

“Oh, Essie. You realize you’re shivering?” 

“I’m not cold,“ I say. “Besides. They’re pretty.” 

“You’re definitely cold. Stop giving me that ‘I’m Russian’ bit and admit it.“ 

“I’m a strong independent Russian woman who don’t need no man.” 

“Half-Russian.“ 

“Dare you curse me?” 

“Why do you cling to that so much?“ He asks. I move closer to him. Because his metabolism runs so quickly, he’s frightfully warm. It’s nice. 

“Cling to it? What—what do you mean?” 

“You’re always making sure everyone knows your Russian roots.“ 

“Oh. That,” I say. I feel myself sobering up and I don’t like it. “Sometimes… sometimes it feels like the only bit of identity I have left.” 

“What do you mean?“  
“I’m a metahuman now. I really don’t know what that means about me. It’s just… I’m Russian. It’s a definition. I like definitions.” 

“Not everything in life has a definition,“ he says. I exhale loudly before rolling away from him and getting up. He does so as well, without my help, and scoffs when I produce a flask from inside my corset. 

“What? A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” I say. 

I chug what I’ve got in my flask and that’s the last thing I remember before blacking out. 


	10. Similarities

**Saturday, November 1, 2014 / 8:43 a.m. **

I wake up to a blaring alarm. 

When I blink, I see the floor of S.T.A.R. Labs. I’m curled up on the tile with a hospital bed pillow underneath my head. Barry’s cape from his costume lay on the floor next to me, still balled up into a makeshift pillow. He’s jumped to his feet as well, looking just as bleary eyed but actually sober. 

Cisco isn’t even awake. He’s barely moved from his desk chair, where he sits with his feet up on the desk next to the computer making the noise— 

And Dr. Harrison Wells sits in front of it, his fingers peaked into a mountain in front of his mouth as he grins. 

Caitlin has already launched herself out of her own place of rest, which is the single hospital bed with a sheet as a pillow. She has to hold onto the edge of the bed to steady herself, her cat ears sitting askew on her head. 

Wells clears his throat, shuts off the alarm, and I’m waiting for some sort of scolding but he surprises me. 

“I wish I could say something about not using my lab as a place to crash after a long night of bar-hopping, but the image I have of you four at this exact moment is something I will cherish forever.“ 

I close my eyes tightly, trying to get myself to stop spinning, but nothing seems to work. 

“Are you alright, there, Dr. Price? Are you feeling a little nauseated?” 

“I don’t puke,“ I say, opening my eyes. “I’ve never puked and I will never puke.” 

“Don’t be too sure about that,“ Dr. Wells adds. “You’re looking a bit pallid.” 

As if on cue, Cait runs for the bathroom, and Cisco finally rouses himself from slumber. 

“I’m gonna…” he points towards Cait, indicating he’s going to check on her. At least that’s what I got from his half-awake brain. 

“The four of you need to clean up this lab before you leave,“ Dr. Wells says, still humorously agitated, as he slips out of the lab. 

I look around the place and finally realize the amount of carnage. There are about six pizza boxes, a two-liter of off brand Mountain Dew, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and a deck of Cards Against Humanity, spread out throughout the entire lab, it seems. 

“What did we do…?” I say, looking up to Barry. 

He immediately shakes his head. “You do not want to know.” 

“I kind of do.“ 

“You, of all people, do not want to know.” 

I yawn, and my chest hurts a little, and I realize I’m still tied in my corset. It’s not the most comfortable thing ever, and I start clawing for the strings at my back to try to unlace it. I groan loudly, suddenly resigned to the fact I’m going to be stuck in this dress forever. 

Without a word, I feel a hand bracing against my waist and the other begin unlacing the tight corset. 

“Oh. Thanks.“ 

“You were struggling a little too much, and while it was pretty funny, it got sad after a minute.” 

I move my hair out of the way, and he loosens the damn thing far enough that I can get it over my head. 

“Wow, I can breathe again!“ I say. The deeper breaths, though, are only made more painful by the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. I’m not going to vomit. I can’t. Stop thinking about it. You’re better than that. 

“If you want to change, there’s some clothes in the closet off the bathroom,” he says, kicking a stack of pizza boxes towards the trash can. He’s not even willing to bend over at this point. 

I’m already out of my dress before I make it to the closet, and I stand in front of it in my leggings and bra. I don’t even care. I find a blue oversized S.T.A.R. Labs t-shirt and throw it on before putting my hair up in a messy bun and going back to the lab. 

I can hear Cait throwing up in the bathroom. I have got to get away from that shit. 

“Couldn’t you, like, use your powers and clean this up?“ I say, leaning on the door frame for support. 

He looks up at me, he side-glances at me like I shouldn’t have suggested it, because we should have to do penance for the destruction we wrought. But his good sense seems to come through because with a blur he throws the last box in the trash can and wraps the rubber band around the Cards Against Humanity deck. 

“See? I knew you could do it.” 

“I feel awful and didn’t even drink.“ 

“Why not?” 

He walks towards the closet himself and starts taking off his fairly fantastic Robin Hood costume. I eye him in an attempt to get another look at those abs of his. I’m rewarded by a very quick peek when he turns around after finding a sweatshirt that looks like he’s worn it before. 

“Metabolism. I thought I explained this to you.“ 

“Have you? I don’t know. Maybe you have. Maybe you haven’t. Lord, that sucks. What are you, 25?”  
“You are literally the first person who hasn’t told me I look twelve,“ he remarks, tying up the trash bag. “I appreciate this about you.” 

“Maybe it’s because I’m a mind reader. You ever consider that?“ 

He shrugs noncommittally. 

“You were up all night making sure none of us puked in our sleep, didn’t you?” 

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good,“ I say. And I do mean it. I think he understands that I mean it. I take the trash bag from his hand. “You cleaned, I’ll take this out.” 

He yawns. “I’m gonna…” 

“Go lay down. I’ll wake you if something important happens.“ 

I slip on my boots and take the trash bag down the winding halls of S.T.A.R. Labs until I find an exit and behind that, a dumpster. I nearly lose my way on the way back. Well, I do get a bit lost. I’ll admit it—those winding metal hallways start to look the same after, you know, the first fifteen miles. 

“Feeling a bit lost, Dr. Price?” 

I hear Wells behind me. I don’t turn around; instead, I let him catch up to me and fall into a leisurely pace next to his motorized wheelchair. 

After a minute or two in painful silence—I don’t even hear his thoughts—I finally interject. 

“Okay, Dr. Wells, why the hell do you hate me so much?“  
He stops moving, so I do too, crossing my arms across my chest. I look down at him and he for the first time he actually looks like he’s taking time to formulate an answer. I don’t like how long it takes. 

“Firstly, Odessa, I do not hate you.” 

“That’s a surprise.“ 

“Would you let me finish? Please?” 

I just let out a sigh. I have to. It’s the only thing keeping me from saying something stupid. 

“You came here every week, sometimes twice a week, to check on Barry when we transferred him here. For essentially nine months you were a metahuman, and you never thought to tell us. We could have helped you, Odessa. I could have helped you.“ 

“And what would you have done? Ran tests? Made me prove it?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“I don’t have anything to prove to you. I don’t know what I could have even done. The first couple months were a nightmare, Dr. Wells. Even now I can barely control it. It’s like hearing whispers in the back of my mind at every moment of the day.“ 

“Is that why you drink so much?”  
I scoff. “Excuse me? That is not something that concerns you. Besides, it’s not a problem. I would know if it were a problem. I’m a fucking psychologist.” 

“There’s no need for that language here, nor do you have to be so defensive.“ 

“I’m not being defensive! You’re the one attacking me!” 

“Odessa, please. I know what it’s like to have something constantly in your mind, fighting for your attention.“ 

“What do you know—”  
“I have many deaths attributed to me. Because of this particle accelerator. Do not think for one second that I have ever forgotten their names. Ever.“ 

I stop for a moment. He’s right, though. I think it’s similar. I mean, it makes sense. It’s sad, though. 

“What can we do now?” I say quietly. I don’t know what I’m even referring to. 

“We move on. We learn to deal with the events that have occurred and we grow from them.“ 

“I don’t know if I know how to do that,” I respond. 

“You’re going to learn.“ 

“We’re going to learn,” I correct. 

For the first time, Dr. Harrison Wells cracks a smile at me. I’m fine with it. I’m okay. I’m going to be okay, I realize. 

Cisco breaks up our conversation by running into the hallway. 

“There’s been another mugging. By the metahuman,“ he corrects. 

“Can we stop it?” I interrupt, but I get the vibe it’s not going to help. 

He just shakes his head. “We saw it on the news. It happened last night. This time, he killed someone.”


	11. Enigma

**Wednesday, November 12 / 7:33 p.m. **

It’s been a dozen or so days since the murder and I don’t think I’ve slept any of them. Most of the time I’m not at work—hell, sometimes when I’m at work—we’re trying to track this metahuman down, but we lose the leads at a certain place each time. 

This thing is untraceable. The only thing we can do, then, is wait for it to attack. 

And with the murder on his hands, I don’t like the idea of waiting, but that’s the point we’re at—constantly waiting. 

I toss the tennis ball back to Cisco and ask him where Dr. Wells went. 

“He’s over at Lanyon Science. Something about ‘discussing an issue’ with Dr. Jensson.” 

“There’s that name again,” I say, tossing it behind my back and catching it as it falls in front of me. 

“He’s all over the news with his ideas on personality and the brain,” Cisco says, throwing himself into the nearest chair. “The man’s a neurologist. It’s weird for him to be dabbling into personality.” 

“What else do we know about his research?” I ask. With a sly grin, Cisco tosses one of the other tennis balls—I think they were for an experiment with Barry—to me. I catch it and start tossing both back and forth. 

“Honestly? I know nothing. Maybe that’s what Dr. Wells is looking for. It’s hella shady.” 

“As long as they’re not testing on humans, I guess that’s okay,” I harrumph. I know it’s never that easy. 

“What about you?” Cisco asks. “Have you tried making someone hallucinate again?” 

“Not lately,” I say. “I kind of had a bad experience the first time, if you don’t remember. And the second time…” 

He goes to toss me another tennis ball, but I start juggling, much to his surprise. 

“You are the weirdest person ever,” Cisco remarks. “You’re a Russian telepath and empath who can juggle.” 

I toss one behind my back and once I step back I can pull it back into my juggling routine. 

“Yeah, give me a gun and I could be Black Widow or give me a costume and I can be a circus performer.” 

“That’s pretty much your choice at this point,” Cisco says. “But really, let’s do it. Right here.” 

I drop the tennis balls into my hands unceremoniously. “What, make you hallucinate? Right now? What if…” 

“What if?” Cisco says, shrugging. “Don’t go so big this time. You’ve got to figure out your limits.” 

“Okay. Go small. I can do that. I can totally do that.” I shut my eyes and hope I don’t regret this, but I try it anyway. 

I push into Cisco’s mind, and I hear him exhale sharply when I make contact. 

“Either those tennis balls are floating or you’re also telekinetic,” he says, slightly nervous. 

“Definitely not telekinetic,” I say. “But it seems to be working.” 

“What did I tell you? Small!” 

But I want to go bigger. I push a little further, deeper into his mind and find an anchor there. Once I latch in, I begin that something bigger. 

“Holy… Essie, you’re disappearing. You’re literally translucent right now. Please tell me this is you.” 

I can’t give him a response right now. I can’t break my own concentration. 

“Alright, so you’re invisible now. That’s a little frightening. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but to know that you’ve locked into my brain and have made yourself effectively invisible is creepy as hell.” 

I have to let go and get out. Once I do, I have to gasp for breath. 

“She shouldn’t keep practicing,” Cait says, entering the room with the sound of heels. “Pushing herself that much harder is just going to end badly.” 

“You’re always pushing Barry to go faster,” Cisco counters. 

“Mental powers are so much more frightening. If that goes wrong…” she drifts. 

“I know you’re just looking out for me, Cait,” I say, appropriating Cisco’s computer chair. 

“Which, by the way, when were you planning on telling us you were a metahuman?” 

I knew this conversation would come. And I knew I wouldn’t have a good enough explanation. 

“I thought it was just me. I didn’t know there were other people like me. Not until Barry got back. I had no idea. I thought something radical had happened to me and I just had to deal with it on my own. And when I found Barry… the status quo changed. I realized I wasn’t the only one, but how do you tell someone that you have powers? Without Barry, you would have never believed me.” 

“You haven’t told him yet,” Cisco says. 

“Haven’t told him what?” 

I’m so thankful for Dr. Wells’s voice rather than Barry’s right now. 

“That she’s been coming to S.T.A.R. Labs while Barry was here,” Caitlin says. “She still hasn’t told Barry.” 

“Odessa, you must confront him about that,” Wells says, wheeling past me and to the computer bay. 

“Can I get you a ladder, so you can get off my back?” 

“Did you have a good talk with Dr. Jensson?” Caitlin says, saving me and Wells from having another argument. 

“Ah, yes. The man doesn’t listen. I had a thought, Odessa. About this Quasimodo. If you confront him again—“ 

“First off, you’re being real sketchy about Jensson; secondly, you’re telling me to go seek out this monster to do what exactly?” 

“If you stop interrupting me—“ 

“No, I don’t want to stop interrupting you.” 

He glares at me silently. I almost push a bolt at him, but I decide against it. He’d probably push it back or something with his superbrain. 

Cisco chuckles, shooting a glance at me. 

_Get out of my head, Ramon._

_You’re the telepath. You get out of mine!_

I saunter out of his mind just as easily as I had accidentally jumped in. 

“As I was saying—if you can get more information out of this creature, I believe we have a good chance of figuring out exactly who or what it is.” 

“That sounds like instant death round to me,” I say. With a rush of wind, Barry appears, so I immediately address him. “Hey, you know what sounds like a great idea? Tracking down this monster thing to let him jump in my brain again just so I can maybe get more information to determine who he is, besides a murderer.” 

Barry considers my convoluted statement for a moment. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“What?!” My voice goes higher than I’ve ever heard it go. “Are ya’ll crazy? I am not going out there, chasing after this thing. That’s an awful idea.”  
Silence. Silence, until Cisco chimes in. 

“That’s…kind of what we do.” 

They all look at me with different expressions. Dr. Wells, I can’t get into his brain, but he almost has a smirk on his face. 

Cisco—he’s pleading. Cait—she’s almost angry, like I should be using my power for things like this. 

Barry’s the first one to speak. 

“We try to save lives here. We’re given these—these powers for a reason, right?” 

“Sweet Lord, your guilt trips are awful. If I die tonight, I’m blaming all of you.” 

* * *

“I really don’t like running the alleys of Central City with you.” 

“You’re not even running. You’re moving incredibly slow.” 

“Says the Flash.” 

He just looks over his shoulder at me with a smirk. It’s basically all I can see in the low light. 

I pull my hood further over my face. I would have preferred a mask, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

I even have an earpiece. That’s pretty great, until Cisco comes across— 

“Mugging in progress. Four blocks north. Street camera looks like Quasimodo.” 

Barry slings a hand around my waist and I cling on for dear life. It’s awful. I hate it. It’s too fast and it makes my stomach hurt. 

But we appear four blocks away, and this alley is filled with this monster. 

He’s attacking a young woman, dark hair— 

But he’s not attacking. 

He’s not, and she turns around with a smirk. 

“Dr. Price. The Flash,” she addresses us. 

I squint in the low light. “Jordan Hart? What the—“ 

“Your little parlor tricks are nice, you know,” she begins. She’s holding that monster at bay. Or she’s controlling it—one or the other. 

My heart is literally beating in my throat. 

“Ba—Flash. Do something.” 

“I can’t,” he says through clenched teeth. 

He’s got a hold on him. It’s like my worst nightmare come true. 

I have to put up a shield. If I put up a full shield, maybe it will break the connection. 

I take a breath, I take the plunge, I throw up my hand and the iridescent shield blasts out of my hand and immediately dissipates. 

“So many metahumans, with so many different powers, yeah?” This Jordan character mutters. “Never thought you’d find the one who could counter you perfectly, did you?” 

“What the hell are you doing to me?” I snap. I can’t push against anyone’s mind. I can’t throw a bolt, I can’t throw up my shield— 

“My friend here’s taken care of the Flash. But you? You, Dr. Price, are a whole different ball game. A telepath usually just needs to fight against another telepath, a stronger telepath. So that’s what I became.” 

“A metahuman with the ability to develop powers to beat an opponent,” I hear Caitlin across the intercom. 

“Nemesis,” Cisco hisses. 

“Why are you aligning yourself with this freak?” I try to buy us some time. I’ve got to think of something— 

“You realize we can hear your thoughts? Both of you?” 

I ground my feet. I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I’m going to. I’m going to try. 

I clear my mind. I clear it completely. I don’t have a single thought. 

“Cisco—activate Barry’s shock device.” 

“W-what?” 

“Do it!” 

I don’t know if Barry has any idea what’s going to hit him, but he literally drops as soon as the electricity hits. 

She falters, she doesn’t know how to handle a telepath’s powers with such distraction, and I can draw out and put up a wall. I throw up a shield with one hand, the shining bubble encasing us. 

I drop down to my knees. His eyes open— 

_You okay?_

“Could’ve warned me.” 

_She would have heard._

_Now what? _He asks as I help him to his feet. 

_Wells wants information. I’m going to get him information._

He grabs my free hand. _These people are powerful—they could hurt you._

_So what else is new? Take care of the girl. Get her to develop superspeed instead of telepathic powers. I still think you can beat her that way. You’re smarter than her._

With a smirk, he nods once. 

I drop the shield, and it’s suddenly chaos. He grabs Jordan and they disappear so I’m stuck in the alley with the monster. With Quasimodo. 

He’s got to have a weakness. 

He takes a step towards me. 

He has to have some sort of weakness. He has to be able to tell me something. 

God, his spines look sharp. 

I taste electricity in the air. I taste its harshness, that brief moment of sourness, sharpness— When I open my eyes, the world spins. It spins slowly, like nothing is stationary, nothing is still, nothing is locked into the ground. 

Even the buildings look like craggy mountains, like the stone has grown from them in short, tall, fat metal spikes. 

The moon rises high in the purple-black sky. It covers this world in green light. 

The monster—he stands before me. He looks different. He doesn’t appear in this world like he does in other. 

He’s human here. He’s human, except for the gaping sores on his face. His skin almost melts. But his face—it looks familiar, like I know his name but can’t seem to reach it. 

He smiles at me. He parts his lips in a grimace; a rivulet of blood drips out down his chin. He doesn’t wipe it away. 

I try to run, I try to fight it, but when I turn around, he’s there. Each moment, he’s there. 

I have to fight it. 

Like a dream, like someone calling out from far away, I think I hear someone yelling my name. 

I turn around once more. He stands about 30 yards away. 

I start running. 

He just smiles. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t move a single muscle but he’s in control. I run at him as fast as I can, and just as I’m about to slam into his body, I slip through him like he’s made of water. 

I’m soaked. I’m wet, and as I run, the green-hued warehouses give way to a high cliff. It’s not a cliff; no, it’s the edge of a building in the middle of Central City. 

The moon is high in the sky, brighter than sunlight. It’s dousing the city in sickeningly green light. Several buildings around me are on fire. A giant black spinning hole begins to engulf the sky. 

I look down. My entire body is covered in a cartoonish-bright red. 

Blood. 

I turn around. This roof is empty, save for the man, this time, wearing a white coat. His name tag doesn’t read anything in English. 

I push back. I have to push back. 

I try to step towards him, but each step feels like I’m pushing through cement that’s caked in sandpaper. 

Every part of my skin feels like it’s about to be ripped off. 

With each step, his face falters. He’s confused. He doesn’t know how this works. He’s never seen someone fight back. 

The scenery flickers. We’re in a desert. There are no dunes, no cacti—it’s all flat, cracked land. The sky is red. 

It flashes again. I’m standing in a stark white room. It’s massive, it’s larger than a warehouse. He stands in the same place. He doesn’t change. 

I see a hill. A boulder moves of its own machinations up the hill and back down in a steady rhythm. 

We flicker back to the white room. He stands before me. 

His name tag isn’t in English. I can read it. 

It’s in Russian. 

He disappears, flickers away like a ghost, and he reappears right in front of me. I can see part of his bone through the muscle tissue on his face. 

He reaches to me, I can’t move, he won’t let me move. I’m pinned, I’m bound. 

With melting hand, with a skeletal hand, he reaches into my chest. I’m wearing a black formal dress. 

I feel electricity. I feel the shock. It courses through me and I’m numb. I feel his bones grab onto my still beating heart and I can’t move I can’t even breathe as he pulls it from my chest. It’s still beating. How is it still beating— 

He opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into it. His rashes fill with skin, with pink healthy skin. His mouth is full of my blood. I know his face. I can recognize him now. I can recognize him. 

I look down at my chest. There’s a ripped up hole in me. 

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m on the edge of the building that wasn’t there before. I’m looking down, down the hundred stories to the ground. 

I’m in the air. Did I jump or was I pushed? 

I hear myself screaming. Not from here, from somewhere else. I’m screaming. It’s a piercing scream over the sound of a flatline. 

I see black. 

I hear nothing until I hear a machine registering a pulse. 

It can’t be mine. I don’t have a heart anymore. 

I gasp for breath. I hear my screaming. I hear voices that aren’t my own. Someone’s holding me down, no—please, no— 

I feel something sharp plunge into my arm, oh God, please no, don’t do this—don’t… 

I can breathe again. I open my eyes and I see a ceiling. The lights are normal colored. I pull at the plastic mask around my nose and mouth. It’s pushing air at me, but I don’t need it. 

“Essie? Essie, can you hear me—“ 

A familiar face looks down at me. He looks so worried. He’s still wearing his Flash disguise with the hood pulled down. 

I can barely whisper his name, I’m so hoarse. Hoarse from screaming. 

Cait appears next to him. Her makeup is running, her hands shake a little. 

“Can you state your full name, please?” 

She peers at my eyes with a pen light. 

“Cait… you’re crying,” I mutter. 

“What’s your name?” She repeats. 

“Odessa Alyona Price.” 

“And when’s your birthday?” 

“March 11, 1987,” I manage. I cringe. My head is on fire, the lights are making it worse. 

“Who punched me in the chest—“ 

Cisco appears next to me, on the other side of the bed, running his hand through his hair and brushing it back. 

He looks to Barry and Cait across me, and they all have the same expression. 

“Someone tell me.” 

Barry sighs, then begins. 

“He took hold of you. I tried to break you out of it, but you wouldn’t. I got you back here, to see if I could get you away from him and maybe you could break the connection, but it didn’t work. Then you started seizing. You… you stopped breathing. Your heart stopped.” He clears his throat loudly. “We… we, uh, had to shock you.” 

“He took my heart. He took my heart out of my chest. He bit into it in front of me.” I hear the heart monitor speeding up and it just makes it even worse. I can’t slow down. Everything moves too fast. “His hand—he pulled my heart out. He ate it. I fell off the building. He pushed me.” 

“Essie, you can’t get worked up, okay?” Barry talks to me like I’m a child. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t calm down. Cait’s going to give you some sedatives so you can rest.” 

I shake my head at him, I make myself dizzy. “No. Please don’t. Don’t make me go back there. He’ll kill me again. He’ll—he’ll—“ 

I see my hand and it’s starting to shake. It shakes violently. The heart monitor beeps faster. 

“I’m going to do it,” Barry says decisively. 

“No, you can’t,” Cait immediately says. “She can’t control it. She could die, and you could too.” 

“What other choice do we have?” Cisco remarks. 

I want to close my eyes. My head hurts too much. 

“She’s going to seize again, Barry, do something.” 

He leans closer. He brushes my hair from my face, he holds my face in his hands, I want to shut my eyes— 

“Plan B. Hey. Essie. Listen to my voice, okay? We’re not going to let anything happen to you. He’s gone. Don’t shut your eyes. Don’t pass out on me—He’s not going to hurt you. You’re in S.T.A.R. Labs. You’re in the present. This isn’t a dream. You’re safe here. Do you hear me?” 

I nod, leaning against his hand. He’s so warm. The heart monitor has slowed, but just barely. The room is still spinning. 

I hear Cait talking to Cisco from the other side of the room. “That girl they fought? Jordan Hart. We’re trying to figure out any possible connections she could have to someone that would be this Quasimodo. So far, we know she works for Laynon Science.” 

“His lab coat; it had a name on it,” I say. Cait rushes to my side. “It was in Russian. But it was Yensen.” 

“Yensen?” Cisco repeats. “Are you sure?” 

“In Russian, yes. In English?” I swallow hard, because I know where I’ve seen his face before. “Jensson.” 

Cait and Cisco rush off to the computers, but Barry stays. 

“I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep. Please—please don’t make me,” I whisper. 

He’s gone in a blur and suddenly back, his Flash outfit put away. I barely felt his hand leave mine. 

“You didn’t have a heartbeat,” He slightly laughs. I’m glad he’s laughing. It’s over now, isn’t it? “You really should rest.” 

“I’m terrified. I don’t want to see him again.” 

“I’ll stay with you,” he quietly offers. 

I try to move my body, inch it to one side, and it feels like it takes every bit of energy in me to complete. It takes him a moment to realize I want him beside me. He kicks off his shoes and climbs up into the hospital bed. As he does, I look at my hand. It won’t stop shaking. I can’t stop shaking. I see him eating my heart. I see the dress’s hole. 

Barry takes my shaking hand in his. He brushes my hair back from my face, I take another breath and I let myself slip away. 

All I see is blackness. 

Blackness, and the twisting black hole over Central City. 


	12. Aftereffects

**Monday, November 24, 2014 / 3:36 p.m. **

S.T.A.R. Labs has been on overdrive since my discovery. 

I know what it means: to figure out this monster is Jensson is a game changer. 

And now we know he is a metahuman—with the ability to become a monster. 

I sit back in the desk chair, since Cait won’t let me stand up or do anything else at this point. My entire body still hurts, but you would get that if you’ve been shocked back to life. 

Barry speeds in and without so much as a greeting, Cait begins. 

“Jordan Hart is Dr. Erik Jensson’s lab assistant at Lanyon,” she says, circling Barry as he makes his way to the computer screen. “And Lanyon Labs shut down his funding two weeks ago.” 

“Funding for his personality and the brain project?” Barry asks. “Are there any details as to what he was studying?” 

“That’s the problem,” Cisco says. “There are no records. He didn’t report any of his findings or what he was spending the money on. The project was started nearly a year and a half ago.” 

“If the project is that old, it was before the accelerator explosion. He wasn’t a metahuman yet,” I add. 

“Exactly,” Cisco says. “So what was the funding for?” 

“Are there no records at all? Not even receipts for supplies or something?” Barry says, peering from the digital file on the computer screen back to Cisco and Cait. 

“We’ve got nothing,” Cisco says, shrugging. 

“You have something, actually.” 

Wells enters from the hallway, looking particularly smug about something. 

“Please tell us you have some information on his work,” I say, shakily standing. Barry approaches quickly, taking hold of my arm to steady me. He doesn’t let go. 

_I’m fine._

He glances about for a moment, then focuses back on me. _No, you’re not. Let me help you._

_Barry, no._

_Essie, yes._

Since I’m already in his mind, all it takes is a sigh and he takes some of my weakness. He merely shivers, and I swear it’s gone, so I touch him once more and I can stand a little straighter. 

_How hard was that?_

“You’re trying to tell me that scientist has multiple personalities,” Cisco articulates. I know we missed a bit of the conversation, but I can put the pieces together. 

“More or less,” Wells says. “Like I said, dissociative identity disorder. Jensson—his prime personality—considers it to be neurological. The man is a neuroscientist. Or was, rather. He would continue to have that delusion. He has not taken the advice of professionals saying it was psychological, and the man started researching his own issues. I believe he was doing that research the night of the accelerator explosion.” 

“What kind of research was he doing, exactly? Trying to split his personalities apart?” 

“It’s highly likely. He would consider it a possibility, with his work in neurology,” Wells states. 

“So he’s not Quasimodo,” Cisco says, adding a dramatic pause. “He’s Hyde.” 

“Dr. Jensson and Mr. Hyde,” I add. “You do have a literary flair, Cisco.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever changed a name,” Barry comments, finally letting go of my arm. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Cait says, slightly rolling her eyes in my direction. She uses the moment to glare at me, then back to Barry. I shake my head at her. 

“So this gala that Jensson is planning,” Barry says. “The one he keeps going on the news about. He’s presenting his information. What’s his endgame? What’s he want to show the world?” 

“I don’t know, but we can find out,” Wells says, looking to me. 

“She’s not going out there. Not against Jensson—Hyde—again,” Barry corrects himself quickly. He knows my fear. He knows how hard that last time was. 

“We wait it out,” Cait suggests, a bit more enthusiastically than I anticipated. “We wait. We’ll crunch some numbers and figure out why he’s out mugging people and maybe there’s a connection.” 

I shake my head. “All this work and I still don’t have a code name.” 

“I haven’t named you yet!” Cisco calls out like it’s the worst thing he’s forgotten in the world. 

Even Wells lets out a chuckle. 

“Give me a second,” Cisco says, holding a hand to his chin. “It’s got to be a good one.” 

“I have high hopes for you, Ramon. Don’t lose my trust here—“ 

“Omni! Like omniscient!” Cisco exclaims, but Cait shakes her head immediately. 

“Omniscient means all-knowing. That doesn’t make sense.” 

“For the record, I like it. It sounds badass—“ I comment. 

But Wells cuts in. “Ah, but omnium-gatherum means a collection of things or people.” 

Cisco grins widely at Dr. Wells, who almost looks surprised at his addition to the naming ceremony. 

“It sounds cool,” Carlos says, crossing his arms. Cait gives me a little shrug. 

“It does sound cool,” Dr.Wells concedes. 

“Perfect. Thank you. I finally have a secret identity!” I say, clasping my hands together. “So when do I get a cool suit?” 

“You have to earn that suit,” Cisco says, turning back to his computers. 

“I haven’t yet?” 

“Earn it, you will,” Cisco says in his best Yoda impression. Cait just shakes her head in response. 

“I have to get back to work anyways,” I say. Damn, I’ve been calling in sick more in the past two months than I have in years. It’s beginning to wear on me and my actual health. Did I just admit to wanting to go to work? 

“I better get in, too,” Barry says, slipping on his coat and checking his watch. “Joe has a case he’s working on and it might be smart to actually get him some forensic results.” 

“He’s been on my ass lately since he knows what I can do,” I say, eyeing Barry. “If he keeps cheating and using me, people are going to start wondering.” 

“Trust me, they already wonder about you,” Barry says, holding my coat open so I can slip it on. Cait and Cisco just exchange glares. 

“Have fun at work, you two,” Cisco says to our backs as we start to head out. “We’ll just track our mighty morphin’ power villain.” 

“May the power protect you always!” I call back. 

I just hear Cisco’s cackling. 

* * *

Jensson stands over me, clutching my still beating heart in his fist. We’re in the white room. He squeezes it and blood oozes out, down over his fingertips. I gasp for air, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe at all— 

He turns, and over his shoulder, I see the black hole forming over Central City. It starts ripping up debris. He throws my heart into the black hole. 

I gasp awake. 

The sun’s bright outside. There’s no black hole threatening the very fabric of our universe. 

I clutch my chest. I’m still alive. 

“If I’d known, I would have brought you coffee instead.” 

I run a hand over my face, looking up at Barry. He’s holding a Big Belly Burger bag and a drink carrier. 

“You should have brought me vodka. Sorry. I—uh, I was having a nightmare,” I explain quickly, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. It was messy enough and he didn’t need to see me like this. 

Well, that’s irrelevant at this point. I’ve practically died in front of him before. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“What since…” I check my watch to determine the last time I saw him. “Four hours ago? I’ve been better, I’ve been—you know, dead.” I can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. He grins too and looks down at the floor. 

“We shouldn’t have asked you to do that. You really could have died.” 

“I kind of di—“ 

“I’m not joking, Essie. It was terrifying.” 

“I’ve been there before,” I say under my breath. He doesn’t hear me. “So, you hear anything from the lab?” 

“Not yet, but Cisco will be on it as soon as they do,” he says. I get up from my seat and pull myself up onto my desk. 

“You can sit—“ 

“I can’t take your chair.” 

“I’m perfectly fine right here,” I say, gesturing to my domain. “Besides, you brought food, and I’m starving, so you deserve the chair.” 

He chuckles and I swear he blushes a little. I change the subject by biting into my burger and humming with contentedness. 

“You know, ever since all this—“ I gesture to myself, hoping he gets my point—“—happened, all my tastes got heightened, so this burger? Phenomenal.” 

“What do you mean?” He says, starting immediately into his fries. 

“Oh! Well, like, you know how your metabolism is so fast? You’ve got aftereffects of your powers? When I take an emotion, I can taste it.” 

He raises his eyebrows and I know he’s fascinated, so I continue. 

“If someone’s scared or anxious, it’s sea salt. Or if they’re pissed off, it’s iron. Like blood. Pain is sour. That one’s hard to explain. Agitation is melted plastic. The case from the bullpen? Copper and cilantro. I’ve… I’ve had hot chocolate and peppermint once, too. Not sure what that was.” 

“That’s oddly specific.” 

“That’s all I’ve got at this point,” I say, shrugging. “Kind of a weird aftereffect.” 

“Could be worse. You could have spines coming out of your neck,” he says, dousing his fries in ketchup. 

“Who says I don’t and I’m just making you hallucinate?” I snap, nearly finishing off my burger. 

He just chuckles. “Unlike Cisco, I know when you’re in my head.” 

“That’s so weird,” I say. “Did you always feel it? I mean, even before? Like months ago?” 

“Now that I know what it feels like, I did—“ 

“What does it feel like?” I say, leaning my hand on my desk. I’m getting some fry grease on a case file. I don’t even care. It’s one of Paulson’s. I can blame him. 

“It’s very light,” Barry explains, peering away from me and out the window. “Just like… like someone’s watching me. Just a little eerie.” 

“Maybe it’s because you’re a metahuman,” I conclude. 

“But once you did it to him, didn’t Cisco feel you, too?” Barry counters. 

“Then I don’t know how to explain it,” I say, waving him off and delving into my fries. 

“Kind of like when you called for me when you were being attacked?”  
“I don’t know how to explain that one either,” I harrumph. I wish I did. I wish I could explain a lot of the things I’m feeling right now. “How did you know about me? About me being a metahuman. What set you off?” 

“I had kind of suspected it,” he says, shrugging. “Sometimes, the way you act around people in the bullpen. When Joe had you help out with cases. The one that got me, though, was that murder suspect. The one that Curtis and Paulson brought in?” 

I nod. I knew that was the one that set him off. I knew that was where I lost my anonymity. 

“You saved a guy’s life with that.” He drifts of a little. I know why, but it’s a lost cause. I didn’t have my power 15 years ago. 

“I wish I could have been there,” I whisper. “I mean—“ 

“It’s definitely similar,” he says, his voice and face drawing a blank. “But yeah. Maybe he wouldn’t be in jail if someone like you were there.” 

“Or someone like you, to stop it,” I say. 

He lets out another harrumph then pointedly changes the subject. “Why did you never talk to me before my coma?” He says. 

Damn, he moves fast. 

I don’t even know how to respond, and he chuckles. 

“The mind reader’s speechless.” 

“The Flash needs to have patience with us slowpokes.” 

“Noted.”  
“I don’t even really have a good answer for you,” I say. 

The only answer I have for him is that I felt connected to him after saving his freaking life and felt obligated to make sure he was still alive after a nine month coma— 

“It’s been nearly a year now and I still feel like I’m catching up,” he says, shoving a bunch of fries in his mouth. I know he has to eat a ton, but I feel like he should have gotten another six orders of fries. 

“You haven’t really missed much, to be honest,” I say, thankful for the subject change. I lean over and take a few fries. He almost looks disappointed. 

“That’s what everyone keeps saying. I’m not talking about current events. I’m talking about my life.” 

“Nine months is a long time to be in a coma,” I say. 

“You know something… Cisco was telling me I kept getting a visitor. One that wasn’t Iris or Joe.” 

I feel the color drain from my face. “Did he now?” I say. I should have known it would be Cisco who would blow this for me. He probably felt he was doing me a favor. 

“We barely talked before the accelerator blew. Why did you keep coming to see me?” 

And there it was. He set me up for all of this. 

I can’t help but begin stammering. 

“Um, well. I mean, you’re a coworker. It was terrifying. To see you like that… you should have died. There was so much glass and it was storming—“ 

I seem the smile on his face slowly fall, and I realize what I’m saying. 

“Wait, what?” He says in disbelief. “You mean—“ 

Well, shit. 

I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I know I have to say it. I’ve waited long enough to tell him. This is my chance, and I know I can’t blow it. 

“I was here. I was doing research in my office. The power went out, and I saw the accelerator blow. When the blast wave hit, it knocked me down, and when I woke up, I heard the—the uh, skylight shatter. I suddenly couldn’t breathe, and then it felt like—like my heart was shocked, and I thought I heard someone yelling, so I started running towards the noise. Somehow I knew the code to get into your lab. I, uh, I think that was the first real manifestation of my power. I think I accidentally read your mind.” 

“6672,” he whispers. “It spells out—“ 

“Your mother’s name. I know.” I’m suddenly not hungry. “It was dark, and everything was broken, there was glass everywhere, shelves down,” I wave my hands a little bit for effect, and I’m hoping it distracts him. “I called 9-1-1,” I finish simply. 

“Cisco and Caitlin told me it took EMTs 13 minutes to get to me. I should have been dead long before they got there,” he says matter-of-factly, moving back and forth in my swivel chair. 

I sigh, I wipe off my hands, paying attention to the action instead of looking at Barry, knowing he won’t be happy until I give him the full explanation. He stands up in the process, starting to clean up the carnage of our meal. 

I take a deep breath and begin. 

“I found my way through the debris. You had fallen on one of your shelving units. I cleared off some of the floor where the broken glass was,” I say, holding up my hand and pointing out my scar. I think he recognizes it as the one he looked at before. “Souvenir. I called 9-1-1, I started CPR and I figured it was futile but…” I trace my own fingers down the scar across my hand. “I couldn’t just let you die. I couldn’t let that happen.” 

He takes my hand, palm up. With his other hand, I watch as he traces the scar just like I did. 

“I was in a coma for nine months.” 

“Yes, you were,” I say, swallowing down whatever feelings that threatened to rise up in me. 

“Cisco said you were there at least twice a week. You already knew Cisco and Cait when I brought you to S.T.A.R. Labs.” 

“I thought it would be better to explain it to you at a later date,” I say. “I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner.” 

“I should be mad at you for lying to me.” 

“You and everyone else. Cisco and Cait were so mad when they found out I was a metahuman. Dr. Wells finally accosted me ago about it. I think we’re okay now, though.” 

“You didn’t know,” he says, taking my hand and running his thumb over my knuckles. I can feel my heart in my throat. “You thought you were the only one, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, until I met the Flash,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” I repeat. “I couldn’t tell you right away. How weird would that be? ‘You don’t know me, but I saved your life and then kept visiting you whilst you were in a coma just to make sure you were still alive because I feel responsible for your well being now—‘” 

He lets go of my hand and instead tilts my chin up so I have to look at him and his hazel eyes. 

“I just thought—“ 

“You should stop thinking for just one second, okay?” He says. 

I can’t think. Instead, he knits his fingers into my hair with both hands and pulls my lips against his. I shut my eyes, trying to stop my heart from jumping out of my chest, and I kiss him back. I kiss him back like I know I’ve really wanted to for the past month and a half and just tried to ignore it. And he kisses me like he’s just realized something too. 


	13. Forces of Attraction

**Friday, December 5, 2014 / 6:24 p.m. **

There is no reason for me to be this insanely nervous. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be him. He’s got no idea. All he knows is the girl he’s looking for has auburn hair and is wearing a black dress. 

I can’t help but think about the kiss. 

I can even feel the blood rushing to my face when I do. 

How long have I been avoiding that feeling? Longer than I care to admit, I think. Way longer. 

But at least he knows now. He knows about night the accelerator blew, he knows about… what I did. 

He knows I kept coming to visit him. 

He knows I lied to him, but I think he realizes I did it because I had no other choice. I didn’t know what he could do. I couldn’t have known. 

Calm down, Essie. It’s different now. Maybe. 

We should be focusing on finding this murderer, not going on a date. 

Iris thought she was so smart. Finding this Hungarian restaurant that I couldn’t pronounce on the other side of town so I couldn’t easily run away. Not telling me anything about this ‘secret blind date’ besides the fact that he’s going to most likely be wearing a burgundy sweater. 

I’m a mind reader, I wanted to scream at her, but I knew how well that would go over. She’s not meant to know. Not yet. 

I hear a heavy sigh from the sidewalk. I am getting a little chilly, I’ll admit, as I pull my coat a little bit closer. 

I don’t even have to see him to know it’s Barry. 

“I’m assuming I’m your blind date?“ I ask innocently, quizzically. 

“Did you have something to do with this?” He asks, trying to suppress a grin. 

“Oh, no. I did find out it was you, but that was it. No, this was all Iris’s own time and effort, without any encouragement from me.“ 

He opens the door for me and he can’t hide that grin of his. He had to have known. He knows Iris. It’s not like he should be that surprised. 

“So, do you have any idea what to get at this place?” 

“None. None whatsoever. I was actually hoping you would have an answer for me, but I guess you’re not going to be helpful at all,“ I remark. 

He helps me shrug off my coat and then pulls my chair out for me before we sit. 

“Wow. Ever the gentleman,” I say as he sits. 

“It’s interesting to see you in something other than a white button down or a fantasy princess dress,“ he counters, picking up the wine menu. 

“I see how this night’s going to be,” I say, ready to spar. “Are you sure you’re old enough to be looking at that menu?” 

He glares at me wordlessly. 

“Do you like red wine or white wine?“ 

“Depends. What are you thinking?” I ask. 

“Are you trying to make me read your mind? Because that’s really, really unfair considering the circumstances.“ He just turns it around and hands it to me. “It’s all in Hungarian. Here. You look at it.” 

“Oh, what, you think just because I have some experience with Russian culture, Hungary is close enough?“ 

“Hey, that’s not what I mean—” 

“You’re not wrong, though.“ 

“You can speak Hungarian?” 

I scoff loudly enough for the couple next to us to glare in our direction. “Hell, no. But I do know a lot about wine. And alcohol in general. Here. We’re going to do this one,” I point to one of the wines in the white wine section to the waiter who magically appears next to me. Once he nods and puts in our order, Barry asks me what I got. 

“I have no clue, but it had about seven different accent marks on the vowels and I liked the way it looked.“ 

He finally breaks and lets out a loud laugh. 

“I got you. I got you first.” 

“We are not mature enough for this restaurant. What was Iris thinking?“ He sighs, leaning on his hand and looking out the window. Night had already fallen. 

“You realize she’s been trying to get me out on a date for like, months? She thinks she’s really smart, putting us together.” 

“I’m sure she does,“ he says almost quietly, looking down at the menu. I do the same, and everything looks confusing and good. 

“Here we go,” he says, “The Hungarian Wood-Platter!” 

“I’m sorry, Barry, but I’m not that kind of girl.“ 

“Oh, c’mon, look at the menu. The menu, Essie.” 

“Oh. Right. The menu.“ I find wherever he’s looking, and the platter is supposed to serve up to four people and includes “favorites from Hungary, assorted in a most appetizing and plentiful platter.” 

“Veal, chicken, pork, sausage, bacon and three side dishes!“ He exclaims. 

“Mashed potatoes,” I say immediately. “You can pick the others.” 

“Speatzels and rice pilaf,“ he announces. 

“Aww, you don’t want the cabbage-noodles?” I say sadly. 

He tries to give me another glare but he just starts giggling again. 

“Are we really going to get the platter for four people?“ He asks as the waiter starts to approach with a particularly large bottle of wine. 

“I really think we are. I think we owe it to Iris to make this date as ridiculous as possible.” 

“For her benefit, or for ours?“ He asks. 

And this time, I can’t really answer. 

* * *

After effectively slaughtering the four person platter and probably making the people next to use disgusted by the carnage, we decide to walk some of it off around Central City. The conversation was good, slightly censored due to the public nature of our existence, but once we got onto the street on a Friday just past 8 we could blend into the cacophony of people around us. The light, cool rain didn’t faze him, so it didn’t faze me, either. 

“So is there anything else I should know about that you already know about?” He asks, then almost rethinks his statement to try to make it better. 

“That’s a loaded question.“ 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I found out a lot when I couldn’t control my powers. You know that.“ 

“I understand that. I just want to know what you know.” 

I wrack my brain. We’ve hit everything, I think. We’ve hit everything until I find that one little nugget of information I hadn’t said to him yet. 

“Oh. Um. Well, there is one more thing.“ 

“Spill, Price.” 

“I… kind of know about the Arrow,“ I say quietly, almost under my breath. “I could apologize again, but what good would it do?”  
“How much do you know about him?“ He asks, drawing away from a particularly large crowd. 

“Psh. I know everything, basically. I know that your little Halloween costume was not Robin Hood, to say the least.” 

He lets out what I could only describe as a nerdy chuckle. 

“You are a massive fanboy. That was a level I could never dream to achieve. Did you tell him what you did?“ 

“Remember those selfies we took at the first bar?” He asks. I try to backtrack to that part of the night. They were ridiculous selfies, from what I can remember. 

“Please don’t tell me you sent those to Oliver Queen.“ 

“I definitely sent those to Oliver Queen.” 

“What did he even say?“ I finally get out between giggles. Lord, now a former billionaire turned vigilante has my drunk selfies on his phone. As my mom would say, she’s not surprised. 

Barry swipes through his texts to the Arrow—which are obviously a lot, I might add—and finds the conversation. He leans over to show me. 

”’What the hell are you doing dressed up as me’… oh, you defended your nerdy choice, did you?… thank God, he called you out on that Robin Hood crap. You didn’t vaguely look like Robin Hood. I haven’t seen the Arrow, but I imagine it was much closer to that… aww, I’m sorry your idol wasn’t flattered.“ 

“He’s not my idol,” Barry playfully snaps, putting his phone away before I could read anymore. 

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t done. I saw my name.“ 

“He wanted to know who you were,” he quickly adds. 

“And what did you say?“ I ask, nearly tripping over the sidewalk in my heels. 

“That’s not important,” he says, exhaling loudly. “What’s next on the agenda?” 

“Oh, the night’s not over?“ I ask excitedly. “Who can we fuck up?” 

“Why is your mind constantly on fucking people up or over or—” 

“Or just fucking them in general,“ I add, much to his slight concern. 

We wander for a few more moments before I see a large neon light. I start walking backwards and point at it, smiling as widely as I can in its direction. 

He reads it out loud. “Bonafide psychic, inquire inside—no. Essie, no.” 

“Barry, yes,“ I say, nodding vigorously. He sighs loudly to the night sky as I spin into the door. It’s that stereotypical psychic bullshit—scarves and low lighting and I’m already laughing by the time I get inside. 

It’s strange—I can’t catch her thoughts. There’s nothing at all from her, not until I sit down at her little scarf encased table. 

“I didn’t think you would come,” she says mysteriously. 

“Oh, I’m sure you had no idea,“ I say simply. “Because there is no way you can determine whether we were going to come in or not.” 

She just looks up at me. Her eyes are extremely pale—like her nearly white hair. It’s almost silver. 

“I saw you outside the window,“ she says coolly. 

I hear Barry snort into his hand. 

“Right. Okay. Let’s do this. You think you can tell my future?” 

“You’re fairly cocky,“ she says, breaking her character. “I’m Nura Nal.” 

“Real name or stage name?“ I ask quickly. 

“Real name. And you?” 

“Dr. Essie Price. This is Barry,“ I say, throwing my thumb towards him. 

“You’re not happy to be here, are you, Barry?” Nura asks, and he shakes his head. 

“No. She’s just here to prove a point.“ 

“So, we’ve got a skeptic in our midst,” she says, picking up her stack of tarot cards. She reaches out to hand them to me. “Please… open your mind and shuffle the deck.” 

I take them, I throw a backwards glance to Barry, and start shuffling them. I know what she’s doing. She’s stalling for time. This is an easy way to figure out more details about me, so she can be all magical later. 

I do as I’m told and I cut the deck. She starts to instruct me how to lay it out but I already know. 

“Superstitious family member?“ She asks subtly. That’s exactly what it is, but I don’t admit that out loud. Instead, I just lay out the cards. 

“Hopefully I can prove your skepticism wrong tonight,” she says before looking down at the cards. 

“The first card shows your present. It is what is on your mind at this point in time, or how you are perceiving the things going on around you. Here, you have the Chariot, but it is reversed. This shows you have poor self-control at this time, poor discipline. You are suffering,“ she says. I just raise my eyebrow at Barry. “You have the belief that disaster is not far. And oh—your challenge. The nine of swords. Everything would be better if you could get past your current situation, am I correct?” I don’t answer, so she continues. “Everything is overwhelming. You are an insomniac, or you have serious nightmares. It’s no wonder, considering the neighboring cards. This third card represents your past. The Tower.” 

“Isn’t that like, worse than the Death card?“ I ask quietly. Okay, maybe I’m getting a little freaked out. 

“It depends on how it is presented,” she says. “It shows something occurred, something sudden, unavoidable, in your past. It was brutal, it was unexpected. It was destructive. But there is hope: it allowed you to take control into your own hands. Card four represents your future. I cannot begin to determine when this would take place, you understand?” I just nod and she sighs. “You have a troublesome future, Dr. Price. The ten of swords, shows a psychological transformation. A breakdown of sorts. A major failure.” 

“Great. Just what I need.“ 

“There could be… great violence. A lack of faith in yourself or others.” 

“How lovely,“ I add again. 

“But this is reassuring. Above, you have the reflection of your goal or what you’re trying to do to try to resolve your issue. It’s the three of pentacles. This shows me you’re finding people who can help you with your situation. A team, perhaps. You’re moving forward in a positive direction, making strides to improve. 

“But on the other hand, in your subconscious, you have the nine of wands, reversed: it’s what is truly driving you, and you may be surprised about it. That’s what it means, with it being reversed. You’re stubborn. You’re unyielding… perhaps you do not want to admit that you need that team, that help. You prefer to exist in isolation.” 

She’s making me really uncomfortable. I’m feeling the anxiety in the room grow. 

“Then to the Advice card. Here we have the seven of cups, reversed. Here, you will need to see reality. You will be awakened, of sorts. Perhaps a physical or metaphorical ‘sobering’. And the external influences—this is slightly odd. The eight of wands. Whatever it is, it’s moving quickly. There is something moving fast, making the action take place quickly. This is good, it brings many opportunities for growth. Things are rapidly improving for you, or they will.“ 

I throw a side glance at Barry. If this reading was real, I don’t think that external influence was an event. I think it’s a person. 

But I can’t stop wanting to panic. I don’t know if it’s Barry or this Nura girl. 

“In this next card, it shows the magician. The inspiring, strong, powerful illusionist with striking ambition. This shows me who you want to be: someone who communicates clearly and channels that power well. You want to grow from these challenges to become a better version of yourself. 

“The final card represents how your concern will end—here, the resolution resides with the ten of wands. This shows your stresses, your worries, are to come to an end. While it is an uphill battle and your health may wear thin, you will survive. It also exemplifies a possible relocation.” 

I walk out the door and into the cold. It’s too much for me to bear. I can’t possibly—I can’t keep up with that… that anxiety. It’s too much. It’s too much— 

I head for the familiarity of the large park in the middle of Central City. I know now I’m nearly back to my apartment, but I don’t know where Barry went. The light rain slowly turns into heavy rain and I curse my need to wear high heels. 

In a blur of light, I’m cut off. 

“What the hell happened back there?“ 

“Her vibes. Her anxiety, her emotions, they just threw me off. I had to get out. I’m sorry. I had to leave.” 

“She told me not to pay for the reading. She said it was something you needed to be told, and was glad to be the one to do it.“  
“They’re tarot cards, they’re just tarot cards,” I mutter. He tries to reach for me, but I just walk deeper into the park. “Barry, they’re just—” 

“Es, I don’t think the anxiety was hers. or mine, for that matter.“ 

“It couldn’t be mine. It couldn’t have been mine.” 

“Yes, it could have,“ he articulates, stepping in front of me to slow me down. He touches my arms lightly. I just remembered I didn’t grab my coat, and he slings it around my shoulders before I even say anything. 

“Did those tarot cards really freak you out that badly?” 

“Well… it’s just… I don’t like getting all that at once.“ 

“You told me yourself they were just tarot cards. Several times, in fact.” 

“I know, but it started to match up too well. My past. Something sudden and destructive. Unavoidable. The particle accelerator explosion. And what about my future? It’s telling me about great violence, a major failure—my health wearing thin, a relocation. I don’t like it, Barry. I don’t like what she’s saying to me.“ 

“Why? Why don’t you like it? You called yourself a skeptic.” 

“I don’t know… maybe because up until a year ago, I thought I would never, ever be in the position I’m in now? I’m a fucking telepath and empath. This never should have happened. This is not humanly possible. So maybe I’m a little freaked out about this tarot card reading because how would I know? It might be true. Parts of it already are!“ 

I stomp my way down the sidewalk a little ways, but I hear his voice from behind me. 

“And what about her predictions of the present?” 

I know what he’s referring to but I’m straight up ignoring it. In typical Barry form, though, he doesn’t let me go and instead zips in front of me, blocking my purposeful steps. 

“She said you’re suffering, Essie. You’re overwhelmed. Are you not sleeping? Are you having nightmares?“ 

I try to circumvent him, but he stops me. This time, he takes his hand in mine. The rain is still heavy, but he doesn’t make any move for cover. 

“Every time we go up against that—that mugger, he does something to me. It’s gotten better, but after last month… Barry, I almost died. I should have died, but I didn’t. I can’t keep going on like this. The reading, it just… it—” 

“It set you off.“ 

“It did,” I say, taking both his hands in mine and dropping them to my sides. “And I’m just scared. I’m scared and I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know what to do…” 

“She did say two good things, though,“ he says. 

“What did she say? What good things did she say? Please, Allen, elaborate.”  
“Well, there’s something fast happening in your life that’s causing positive change, and you’ve got a good team trying to improve your situation, so…” 

I let his hands go and bury my face in his chest, I pull him into a hug as close as I can. I feel his arms eventually close in around me, holding my precariously balanced coat over my shoulders. I can feel the tears welling but I push them down and away from anything close to falling over my cheeks, and soon I draw away from him, trying to regain my composure. 

I curse myself for letting that one rogue tear run down my face. I go to wipe it away but he catches it before I do. 

“Sorry for ruining our date,“ I say, looking down at the grass, matted and wet from the slight downpour that seems to be winding down. 

“You know, I’ve had a lot worse.” 

“Really? Worse than this?“ 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“I highly doubt it.“ 

“We don’t have to do this tonight though. We shouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Oh? What’s your suggested conversation?“  
He bites his lip and feigns thinking, and I literally can feel his heart rate double. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking I would really like to kiss you right now.” 

“I like this Barry Allen. The brave, bold Barry Allen.“ 

“Nice alliteration,” he says nervously. “But you still didn’t answer my question.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize I had to answer with words,“ I retort, stepping up on my tiptoes to get myself that much closer to him. I close my eyes, and his hand cups my cheek and we’re both cold but I taste the kiss before I feel it. I taste peppermint, I taste hot chocolate, I taste a snowstorm and a heavily burning fireplace. 

I draw him closer. 


	14. 301

**Sunday, December 15, 2014 / 1:44 p.m. **

I’m worried. The mugger—Hyde—he’s disappeared again. We all know he’s the one that killed that girl, but he’s seemingly gone into hiding. Good for him, too; it’s probably better for him that way. 

We’re going to find him, whether he realizes it or not. We’re going to track him down. And we’re going to put an end to this mess. 

But for now, I’m going to overindulge myself on peppermint tea and enjoy the cold, overcast day outside my windows. 

I really should be productive, but that grayish layer of fluffy clouds are distracting. 

Almost as distracting as Barry Allen. 

I don’t know what we are at this point. After that first ‘date’, or whatever you call it last month, we’ve been out… three more times since then. Since then, we’ve avoided larger scale places. Once, he also cooked me dinner when Joe was gone. He wasn’t half bad, especially when he gave up being conventional and started using his speed. 

I just sat and drank his wine stock. He seemed perfectly fine with it. 

So I don’t know what our label is at this point, but I’m strangely okay with not having a label. I’m trying to do better to not label things and instead enjoy them for the gray area they are. 

I hear yelling downstairs, and I swear I hear Barry’s voice. He does not sound happy, and I think he’s yelling at Joe. 

I slowly slip down the stairs. 

“I’m so sick of Singh talking to me like that.” 

“He’s still our boss, now I know you’re upset about losing Bivolo, now—”  
“Wait, wait. You’re just like him. Like Wells, and Oliver, and everyone else, my whole life that didn’t think I could get the job done! Do you wanna help me, Joe? Do you wanna help me? Get my dad outta prison!“ 

I creep around the corner and I see Barry in Joe’s face, pointing towards the supposed direction of Iron Heights. “You helped put him there, didn’t you?” 

Barry’s chest heaves as Joe talks, but he’s distracted. What the hell set him off so badly? 

“Barry, I need you to calm down. Why don’t we both take a ride to S.T.A.R. Labs?“ 

That sets Barry off immediately. He bodily pushes Joe away from him. 

Something is extremely wrong. This is not the Barry I know. 

“I’m calm!” He yells. “Okay? When I am not calm, you’ll know.” 

I see his eyes flash red. He starts hauling ass for the stairwell. I don’t know what else to do other than grab Joe. 

“What the hell happened?“ 

“He just started yelling,” he says, shaking his head. 

I know exactly what I need to do. I start towards where he went but Joe holds me back. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Essie. You know if something’s wrong with him, he can’t be stopped.“ 

“Anyone can be stopped,” I say. And I mean it. 

I follow him to the stairwell. I don’t know what good it would do, but I notice he’s moving purposely, slowly, step by step. when he gets to the next floor’s landing, I jump down the last few steps and block him from going any further. 

“Barry, what’s gotten into you?“ I ask, touching his arm gently. He rolls his shoulder almost immediately to push me away. 

“You need to leave me alone. Go back to your office.” 

“I heard you yelling at Joe. You never do that. What’s wrong—” 

“You want to know what’s wrong?“ He articulates, looking off to the side and drawing a heavy breath. “I am sick of people treating me like I’m broken. I am not broken—” 

“Did you go after that Bivolo guy last night?“ I ask quickly. I feel like I’ve bitten the side of my cheek and am tasting blood until I realize I don’t think this is from me. I look down. My hands are even shaking. 

He does a 180 on the stairwell, running his hands through his hair. “Seriously, Essie? There is nothing sacred with you, is there? I can’t have a single secret when you’re around. I can’t have a feeling that I don’t want someone to know about. I can’t even exist without you putting your nose in my business.” He draws closer to me, talking wildly with his hands. I shake my head. I know something is terribly wrong, but it doesn’t stop the tears welling in my eyes. “You are so… you’re so invasive. How can you even be around people? How can you, in good conscience, be here, working in a police precinct, of all places? You overhear so much on any given day, what if someone kidnapped you? What if they tried to find out secrets or—” 

I’m done. I’m done listening to this, so I push my palm against his chest and shove him against the wall. 

“Have a little more faith in me than that. I’m stronger than you might think. You forget that when you were all cozy in your nine month coma, I was trying to figure out what the hell happened to me! I had nine months when I thought I was going insane! When you wake up and find out ‘oh, I can move really fast’, and suddenly you had a whole team to help you, that was fine and dandy.“ He tries to zip away from me but I’ve got him pinned just enough that he doesn’t try. So take a step closer, feeling that rage seething under my skin too. “301 days. That’s how many passed before you found out about me. 432,000 minutes I have spent hearing other people’s thoughts and feeling their emotions. Do you think I asked for this? Do you think, for one second, I ever wanted this?” 

“See, that’s where you and I are completely different. I can embrace my power. I can help people. The only thing you’re ever going to be is a liability. Something to hurt others. Something to hurt yourself. Look at yourself now—you’re just making yourself more and more pissed off just being in my presence.“ 

I step back from him, suddenly aware. I look at my hand; it looks fine, but I know what he’s saying. I was drawing from his own anger. I take a few deep breaths, try and cleanse my mind, but he just lets out a disturbing chuckle. 

“No. Fuck that,” I say, pushing him back from the stairwell again. He crosses his arms tight over his chest, setting his jaw. “You listen here, Allen. If I didn’t have this power, you would be dead. And you know it. So fine, go on your little crusade. Don’t expect me to be waiting here for you when you’re done.” 

Without another word, he throws me aside. I slam into the cinderblocks and as soon as he’s out of earshot I sink to the ground. 

I don’t know which is worse: my desire to cry or my desire to punch something. 

I really don’t know what set him off, but I’m not going to find out. I should have known this would happen. I really should have known. 

* * *

I called off work today. I’ve lost count as to how many I’ve taken in the last three months or so, but I can’t bring myself to care. I had six weeks of vacation accrued. I need to take it sometime. 

I didn’t want to be at work today. I didn’t want to have to look at his face. 

Today wasn’t a Stoli day. Today was a wine day, and I’ve been drinking fairly steadily since noon. Not enough to get drunk. I don’t want to get drunk today. 

Which is strange. Drunk is how I like to be and how I can get my mind to shut off. 

But for some reason I want my mind to be functioning. 

Chekhov hasn’t moved from his spot since about 6:30, which is weird for him. He just stretches out, taking up half the couch. 

“Wanna give a girl some room?“ 

He looks up at me, groaning slightly. 

“I’m guessing that’s a no.” 

I’m forced to get up when I hear a knock on the door. It’s got to be my pizza, so I get up and open the door without checking the peephole. 

I should have checked the peephole. 

Barry Allen stands there, his head and shoulders slightly wet from the cold rain outside. 

He gives me a guilty look. I move to shut the door. 

“Essie, please—”  
I let out a single chuckle. “You really think I’m going to let you into my apartment after yesterday?” 

He catches his hand on the inside of the door, and his fingers graze mine. I recognize anger, I recognize fear, I recognize disgust. Not towards anyone else—just himself. 

I let out a heavy sigh that I hope he can hear, then let go of my hold on the door. I refill my wine glass and hear him shut the door behind him, but I ignore him and go sit back down on my couch with Chekhov. 

“Can I talk to you? Please?“ 

“You are. You’re in my apartment. Guess I have no choice.” 

“I need to explain to you what happened yesterday.“ 

He sits down in my arm chair next to me having hung up his coat. I give him the blankest look I can muster. Barry leans on his knees, clasping his hands and looking down at the floor. 

“There was the metahuman. Roy G. Bivolo. He—he hit me too. I went after him the other night and he, uh, he whammied me.” 

“Is that an accepted term in the scientific community?“ 

“Can you please let me explain?” He says, finally looking up at me. 

I let out a heavy sigh. Again. I look away to focus on my drink because I can’t look him in the eye right now. 

“It made me say some things I really shouldn’t have said.“ 

“Yeah, but were they truthful?” 

“There’s been a lot of things bothering me lately—”  
“So, you were being truthful.“ 

“That’s not what I meant.”  
“Oh, I fully understand what you meant,“ I say, standing up. My wine glass is empty again, but I instead slip it into my dishwasher. I can’t drink anymore. Not with him here. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t control my power as well as you can. I’m sorry I’ve spent so long trying to figure it out when you could figure it out with your team in a month. I’m not saying my life has been harder than yours, but—” 

“It really has been,“ he says, suddenly on his feet and making his way into my kitchen. “You have to remember I lost nine months of my life. But… you spent so long thinking you were alone.” 

“301 days,“ I whisper. “Not that I counted or anything.” 

He slowly approaches me. “And yes, your powers scare me. But not because I think you’re putting other people in danger. That’s not what I meant when—the other day. It scares me because you know so much, so what would happen if someone found that out? I’m afraid someone could take you. Use you. Use your power against you.” 

“That’s not going to happen,“ I say simply. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because it’s not. I’m not going to let someone use my powers against me. It’s that simple. I would die before I lost control.“ 

“I lost control,” he says. “Bivolo took control over me.”  
“And in turn, he almost took over me.“ At Barry’s confused look, I explain. “I touched you. I started unintentionally siphoning some of it.” 

“Essie, I’m sorry—”  
“But you’re right, you know. You’re right. I am a liability. Nothing good can come out of me.“ 

I head upstairs, I don’t know why, I don’t know where, but I’ve got to get out of there. I’m just ready to cry and I just don’t want him to see that. I don’t want him to know how much it hurt. 

“You’re right, though,” he says and I groan. He’s followed me to the top of my stairs. I kick some of my clothes on the floor to the corner and sit down on my bed, drawing my legs up to my chest. 

“Right about what?“  
“I wouldn’t be alive without you. It’s that simple.” 

“Do you know what I would give to be normal again?“ I say, muffled, with my face in my arms. “You—you’re the one who’s right about the power that’s helpful. You can help people. Me? I… I—” 

“That’s bullshit, I’ve watched you do it. More than once. You’re just holding back. You could do so much more if you had more control.“ 

“I’m trying. You have to see that I’m trying.” 

He sits down next to me, and soon his arms are around me, pulling me closer. 

“I know you’re trying.“ 

He drops a kiss on my forehead. 

“At least I was counting the days until we….” I can’t help but drift, but he knows what I’m saying. 

“I guess that’s a good thing.“ 

I don’t force him to leave. When my pizza gets here, we split it, and when I wake up in his arms the next morning after a long night of talking, we’re at a vastly different place in whatever this unlabeled, gray area is. 


	15. Call

**Tuesday, December 23, 2014 / 7:46 p.m. **

The majority of my life is framed by phone calls and text messages for the next few days. 

I’m in the nice, 60 degree weather of Coast City and the sun has set just enough for the brightest stars to come out over the beach outside of my parents’ new beach house. It’s more like a cottage, actually, but I’m not one to complain about having a tiny place beachside. 

My phone rings, and I see it’s Barry. 

“Hey—” 

“Hey,“ He sighs. 

“You sound dejected. What’s up?” 

“Oh, just…” 

“You’re looking at your mom’s board again.“ 

“Can you read minds across cell phones?” 

“What, you don’t think I can hear three words and determine exactly what’s wrong with you?“ 

“Sorry. There’s a lot going on.”  
“I’ve been gone for like, two days.“ 

“I was in Starling City.” 

“Wait, what?! When?!“ 

“Sunday. Monday…” 

“You mean you were close _yesterday_? Why didn’t you stop by?! You could have made it here in like…” I stop for a second to do the math in my head. Cross multiply— 

“A half hour, I know. I know. I’m sorry. I was on a case.“ 

“A case?” 

“In Starling City…” 

“You mean with the Arrow?“ 

“There was a bomb threat. Well, actually five—”  
“What?!“ 

“I’m fine, Essie. I’m fine. No one got hurt. Well, no one on the team, at least.” 

“You were all there?! Why didn’t you call me?“  
“You’re with your family. I’m not going to interrupt that.”  
“Fine. I—I understand. But you can. You can call me for things like that, you know.“  
“I know.”  
“Dammit!“ I whine. “I wanted to meet the Arrow!” 

“Maybe someday,“ Barry laughs, almost distractedly. 

“Oduskha—” I hear my mom yell. 

I’m afraid Barry’s going to hear that damn nickname, but he doesn’t say a word. 

“Hey, you okay?“  
“I just… hang on.”  
“I’m hanging.“ 

I hear him draw a heavy breath. 

“Hey, I’ll have to talk to you later.” 

“Why—” 

“Something—I’ll just text you, alright?“ 

“Okay. Whatever it is, be careful.”  
“I know, Essie.“ 

* * *

Just after Christmas Eve dinner and as we’re getting ready for the midnight mass, I get a stream of texts from Cisco. 

Cisco: I don’t want you to panic, but I’m sure Barry won’t tell you what happened. 

Me: I’m panicking. 

Cisco: Don’t do that. Don’t panic. We had a lot go on without you here. 

Me: What the hell happened?! Why do I leave when the good shit happens? 

Cisco: Long story short? We tried to capture the Reverse Flash. 

Me: Wait, the guy Barry thinks murdered his mom?  
Cisco: The one and only. He beat the shit out of Dr. Wells. 

Me: Is he okay? Should I come home? 

Cisco: No, no no no. He’s fine. He’ll be okay. 

Me: Any developments then? 

Cisco: Not if you count Ronnie showing up in a ball of flame. 

Me: Excuse me 

Cisco: Yep 

Me: You’re fucking with me. 

Cisco: I am not, indeed, fucking with you. 

Me: So he got stuck in the explosion and is a metahuman now 

Cisco: That’s what we’re guessing 

Me: Lord. 

Cisco: Thought you should know. We’re at the West’s house right now, so I’ll text you later. 

Me: I’ll be at mass so I may not answer. Tell Barry he should text me. 

Cisco: I’ll be your messenger boy. 

Me: I’ve got a present for you. 

Cisco: If it’s that damn Serenity shirt I’ve been wanting… 

Me: :)

Cisco: I adore you. 

Me: I know. Stop distracting me from Baby Jesus. 

Cisco: Feliz Navidad, mi cielo. 

Me: S Rozhdestvom, solntse. 


	16. Start Spreading the News

**Wednesday, Dec. 31, 2014 / 8:06 p.m. **

Ever since I got back, Barry’s seemingly avoiding me. I haven’t even had a chance to give him his Christmas present yet. 

I’m so damn tired. I completed three different cases today because Curtis, Paulson and Joe all wanted to get their case files done before the new year, and now all I want to do is go home. 

“You’re not thinking about going home already, are you?” 

I spin in my chair and look at the sheepish Barry Allen who has entered my office, already wearing his coat. 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?“ I remark. 

“I just feel like you and I have been really distant lately,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “I just… I wanted to talk to you about something that—that happened when you were gone.” 

I gesture for him to take a seat. “Barry, I know what you’re going to say.” 

He looks at me with wide eyes. “You do?” 

“First off, mind reader,“ I remind him, as I often do, but then I remind him something else—”Iris and I are friends, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“She came to talk to me earlier today.“ 

“Oh. Oh,” he says, running his hands through his hair. His anxiety is palpable. I almost feel bad for him. “You have to understand—” 

“Barry, that is a whole different situation that you have to deal with. Am I hurt that you didn’t tell me? A little, yeah,“ I confess. I mean, how am I supposed to feel? “A lot, maybe. But I’ve kept secrets from you that I had to tell on my own time and that’s what this was. Iris has her own life. And I’m gently suggesting you move on.” 

“You know, I was talking to Joe about that the other night,“ he says after a moment of silence. “I feel like I’m stuck.” 

“Stuck here? Or just… stuck?“  
“Both, I guess.”  
“Looks like you’ve got to move on, then,“ I say. I don’t know where this sage advice is coming from, but it feels right. And I know I should be pushing him away, from what Iris told me, but at the same time, I’m pissed, but I’m not. I can’t bring myself to be that angry. And honestly, I would love to push him in my direction. He’s always been this way, I know. And his interest in me has never changed. I always knew it would be something that would have to grow, develop, and there was a heavy roadblock. But we all have those roadblocks. I’ve still got my roadblock called the particle accelerator, and if I want to grow, I have to get past that, and… 

He’s smiling at me again, a slightly sad, tired smile that barely curves up the side of his mouth. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

“Projecting?“ I sigh heavily. 

“It’s cute,” he says. “It’s nice to know what you’re thinking for once.” 

I can’t help but blush. “Look, I mean…” 

“You and I and everyone else in Central City right now are in this convoluted mess of a life…” 

“I like what we’re doing,“ I quickly say. “I want whatever this is to keep happening. I just want to be clear with that. I mean, it might be awkward but people are moving on and we should be moving on as well.” 

“Moving on, in the same direction?“ He suggests with another smirk. 

“Yes. Yes,” I say again, more assuredly the second time. It’s time to change the subject, so I pull the envelope from my stack of paperwork. “We never exchanged Christmas gifts.”  
“No, we didn’t,“ he says, pulling his own small box from his coat pocket. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. “Open this first.” 

I take the neatly wrapped box and lift the tape from the sides before pulling off the bow and placing it on top of my head. 

“So professional,“ he adds. “And it’s not much, but…” 

I shrug and I feel it fall off; I pull off the top of the box to reveal the gift underneath. There’s a half face mask inside. It looks like a Colombina mask, the heavily decorated masks frequently used at masquerade balls. It’s black, but looks like it sparkles with silver underneath; swirls of heavy silver cut through the black. 

“I mean, I just thought with you… joining the team, you might need one. The elastic is basically unbreakable, and it has a comm device that you can slip into your ear like a Bluetooth.“ 

I have to surreptitiously wipe away a tear. “Lord knows my gift is not nearly as good as this one.” 

“Well, it’s practical, you can use it, and it’s pretty…” He drifts. 

This is not a gift from someone who at least doesn’t have some sort of feeling towards me, I remind myself. 

“What made you pick black and silver?“  
“That’s literally all you wear, Essie.”  
“That’s fucking true. Okay, open yours.“  
I hand him the envelope, quickly, and slip the mask away to keep it hidden. Wouldn’t want anyone seeing it that shouldn’t know about it. 

He opens the envelope and finds the gift certificate inside. 

“Central City Archery Range—good for six hour long lessons! Are you serious?” 

“Okay, like your gift, it’s twofold: you’re a nerd and constantly fanboying over the Arrow—” 

“Accurate.“ 

“—and I would just love to see the look on his face if he found out you could shoot a bow.” 

“This is awesome,“ he says, looking down at the certificate again. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you,“ I say, gripping tightly onto the box. 

We kind of look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and back down at our gifts, then back to each other until he gets to his feet. 

“We’re going out for drinks. Eddie and—and Iris are coming, and I think Cisco and Caitlin. There’s a bar downtown doing karaoke until midnight if you want to come. Iris… She’s been on my ass for weeks about doing karaoke.” 

“Oh, shit, I promised her karaoke a while ago too,” I say, slipping on my coat as well. It’s not even a question anymore. I’m suddenly not tired anymore. 

“Do you sing?“ He asks casually, like he’s sizing me up. 

“Oh, I sing. Mom made me take lessons for years.” 

“Oh, shit,“ he says under his breath. 

“I’m not saying I’m that good. What about you?”  
“I’m alright,“ he shrugs. 

“You better bring your A-Game, Allen,” I say as we slip through the quiet bullpen. He just lets out a harsh, almost fake laugh. 

“Oh, Price. You have no idea.” 

“The gloves are coming off,” I say, slipping under his arm as we walk out. 

“I bet they are.” 

* * *

The seedy bar is nearly packed, but thankfully my loud and slightly intoxicated table has the power of a telepath to give them the ability to sing when they want to. 

Luckily, with my slightly alcoholic background, I have a feeling all these grown men are going to be under (or on top of) the table before I even begin to feel it. 

“Okay, okay, there’s a song coming up that begs for a drinking game,” I announce. Some poor soul had picked a song that I could not let slide. “I saw the list,” I save quickly after seeing Cisco’s glare. “I need to challenge someone to this game—“ 

“Eddie’ll do it,” Iris offers. Eddie, who was being quiet for most of the start of the evening, has got enough beer in him to size me up, then shrug once. 

“You’re going to get schooled, you know that, right?” I say, pushing up my cardigan sleeves. I’m already feeling a bit of poetic justice in taking on Eddie. “Besides, you don’t even know the drinking game yet.” 

“You really think you’re going to beat me at a drinking game? You’re five foot nothing and have barely touched your… what is that, straight vodka?” He begins, and the table calls out in various octaves of “oohs” as he challenges me. 

“Fine. Detective Thawne, your gauntlet is thrown.” 

I head the bar and do the math: four double shots of Johnnie Walker Blue, four of Stolichnaya Vodka, a Yuengling and an Angry Orchard. And extra shot glasses. 

The bartender is casually judging me as I bring the whole tray back to our table. When I start setting it up, they’re already letting out casual groans at the display I’ve brought on. But Eddie—such a champ—just loosens his tie like he’s going to war. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t agree to this,” Cisco mutters over the top of his beer bottle. 

“The parameters of the game:” I say, clearing my throat, “During the song’s verse, you must drink each drink upon its mention in the song. Both times.” I fill the other shot glasses to the brim, then pass off the rest of the Yuengling to Barry and the Angry Orchard to Caitlin. 

“Both times?” Eddie repeats, and I stack both rounds of shots up to him. 

_I have to do this right. Can’t get beat by a girl, not in front of Iris._

Poor soul. Actually, no. I take that back. 

“Is this what I think it i—“ Barry begins, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. 

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” I say as the poor karaoke-goer I’ve chosen to use to exact my professional revenge on Eddie Thawne takes the stage. 

Iris literally seal-claps, she’s already laughing so hard. 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Eddie says, looking over the shots as the introduction of the song starts. 

“You forgot something very important, Thawne,” I say, picking up my tumbler of vodka with as much flair as I can properly muster. 

“What’s that?” I see the fear in his eyes. Just for a moment. 

“I’m Russian.” 

I chug rest of my Stolichnaya and slam it back down on the table. The entire bar erupts into the chorus of “Tubthumping” when Eddie realizes what he’s done. 

“I get knocked down, but I get up again! You’re never gonna keep me down!” 

_Don’t hurt him too badly. _Barry casually glares at me, but I can’t help but grin. 

_I’m not sorry, if that’s what you’re looking for._

Eddie shakes out his hands and takes a deep breath. 

The verse comes quicker than I’m prepared for, and the table is already singing along in preparation of what we’re about to do. 

I hit the Johnnie Walker first, slamming the shot glass down on the table top milliseconds before Eddie. I follow with the vodka: that one doesn’t burn as badly as the whiskey, since it’s a drink of choice; the Angry Orchard, though, doesn’t taste as good when I use it as a chaser for the beer. 

I breathe through the burning. Eddie slams his hand on the table, trying to recover. 

“There’s one more round, man! You’ve gotta keep up!” Cisco calls out. 

I don’t know if I’m ready for the next round but there’s no way I’m going to let Eddie take me for a fool. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He says, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Iris. 

“I have been drinking for probably longer than you,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the shot of whiskey. 

“You know I’m a cop, right?” 

“You’ll never take me alive,” I stage-whisper. 

“He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a vodka drink, he drinks a lager drink, he drinks a cider drink—“ 

And the shots are empty, according to the loud shots of hallelujah coming from the table around me. 

“How’d you like that game?” I say, and Eddie just bites his lip and nods at me. 

“You… never expected that from you.” 

“Oh, yeah? What did you expect from me?” 

He looks around for help, but no one seems to want to give it. 

“You’re so… quiet! And tiny!” 

I give him a tiny, quiet, seated bow. “I’m glad to change your mind.” 

“So, who wins?” He asks, leaning over to kiss Iris. She just scrunches her face against his. 

“The winner doesn’t vomit at the end of the night,” I say. “Hey, where’d Cisco go?!” 

He’s disappeared. What the hell— 

I hear his name get called, though, and I realize he’s gone to the karaoke stage. 

He’s probably the least drunk out of all of us besides Barry but he takes that stage with abandon. 

“I didn’t know Cisco liked to sing,” I whisper to Barry. Barry just shrugs. 

“I didn’t know either—“ 

I literally fall out of my chair. I don’t know whether to be impressed or laugh. Or both. Probably both. 

He starts singing the Four Seasons’ “Sherry” in the correct octave—and he’s actually good. 

I don’t know why I’m so surprised— 

“Sherry, can you come out tonight?”  
I stand up and grab Barry’s hand. “C’mon. Dance with me.” 

He lets out a staccato laugh. “Oh, no. I don’t dance.” 

The rest of the table starts laughing as well. I don’t know why. I don’t know why my question was funny— 

I give him a cheesy grin instead. “Listen. I’m going to need a lot more liquor to get on that stage and it’s taking a lot to even get me to ask you to dance, so acknowledge my hardships, please.” 

Iris reaches over and smacks his arm. “Dance with her,” she insists, with a pointed glare. Her cheeks are getting flushed. 

I recognize she hasn’t said anything to him all night except for now. At I love her for it. 

He reluctantly stands up, and I grab onto his shoulder in a dance hold. 

“Sherry, baby—we’ll dance the night away; I’m gonna make you mine—“ 

Although I’m leading, I spin away and back into him. I see Iris smiling. She knows I know their conversation, and she’s happy the way I’m handling it. Bless her heart. 

I’m handling it. I’m handling it the way I do best: with a lot of alcohol. 

“You better ask your mama… tell her everything is alright!” 

As the song comes to a close, I can’t help but applaud Cisco as obnoxiously as possible. Barry—now relinquished from my dance hold—slips back into our corner booth and I nearly jump Cisco as he wanders back. 

“That was amazing, and I feel intensely lied to!” 

He just gives me a hug. “I need another drink. Nice dance moves, by the way.” He just raises his eyebrow at me. I ignore him. 

“I think I can make that happen. Another round?” 

Another karaoke singer slips into an awful rendition of “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places” and I head towards the bar. I don’t go to bars. Most of my drinking is done at home. In pajamas, not in cute skirts with my hair actually done. 

I place our order and I know it will take a while so I settle in. I can feel Barry before I can see him sit on the stool next to me.  
“You know, you make all these comments about being Russian, but that’s basically all I know about you,” he says. 

I don’t look at him. Instead, I focus on the stacks of liquor displayed behind the bar. 

“What do you want to know? I’m an open book.” 

“Your family was in Coast City. You’ve said you were born in Russia. Care to elaborate?” 

“Well, I was born in Leningrad. When it was still Leningrad. It’s St. Petersburg now. That’s irrelevant. My mom—Valeriya Dimitrievna Mislavovna. She was barely 21 and a nurse wishing to get out of the Soviet Union. My dad, Dr. Michael Price, American Army doctor. A romance straight out of a cheesy paperback. You know the drill. She got pregnant, they couldn’t get married right away. I was born there, but when the U.S.S.R. was dissolved we moved here. Coast City, actually. They got married and Dad started a private practice. Mom—she started going by Valerie at this point, which was probably easier for everyone—went to school. She’s an E.R. doc in Coast City now. 

“Only child, daughter of medical people. Nothing tragic, just tragically Russian. Central City University class of 2012—B.S. in psychology, masters in psychology, Psy. D. in criminal psych.” 

“I wasn’t asking for a biography, you know,” he says, taking his beer from the bar and turning around to lean on the dark wood. 

“I know,” I say, turning to face him. “I thought you’d like to know more than you needed to. Since I know more than you probably wish me to know.” 

I hear a distinctly country sounding song begin. Seriously? Another— 

Barry rolls his eyes in the direction of the stage. “Seriously. Not this again.” 

I spin on my bar stool. Iris has her hand on the mic, looking much more intoxicated than how we left her. 

“It hits her slow, but once it hits, she’s done for,” Barry says, chuckling under his breath. 

She sings a bit off key but nothing I couldn’t appreciate. 

“I hear them whisper, you won’t believe it—they think we’re lovers kept undercover—“ 

“Is this a normal song choice for her?” 

“It’s literally one of the only songs she can sing. I don’t know why. She could try something else. Anything else.” 

I can’t help but smile, laugh. He just shakes his head as she hits the chorus. 

“Maybe they’re seein’ something we don’t, darlin’—let’s give ‘em somethin’ to talk about!” 

“You’ve known each other for a long time,” I say. 

“We have,” he says back, cutting off the conversation as quickly as it starts. 

“You know how you can’t get drunk?“ I begin. “I wonder…” 

“You’ve got that weird look in your eyes.” 

I feel myself grinning. “I wonder if I could transfer it.” 

“Transfer intoxication?” He whispers. “And how are you going to do that?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” I say, reaching for the tray of alcohol. 

“You should let me take that,” he says, pushing my hands out of the way and effectively making me useless. 

But now I know what I have to figure out over the course of the night: how to get Barry Allen drunk. 

* * *

Two rounds later and Cait is the second to go down. Her and Iris have a giggle fest before Cait announces it’s her turn to do karaoke. She nearly falls out of the booth. 

“Do you have a song, dear?” I yell at her back as she approaches the stage. 

“Build Me Up, Buttercup!” She calls back. 

I mentally put in her request and make sure it’s plugged in next with the technician since I know Cait has none of the faculties left to do it herself. 

Her animated performance is enough to make our booth lose it, and I have to cringe at her off-key singing. I mean, I’m not a professional at any means, but my mother was a good enough singer for me to know when someone shouldn’t sing. 

Cait shouldn’t sing. Ever. 

“I need you more than anyone, darling, you know that I have from the start—“ she still sings, full voice, as she heads back to our table. She reaches out to grab my hand, and she serenades me. “So build me up Buttercup, don’t break my heart!” 

“Don’t break my heart!” Cisco adds in the lowest voice he can muster. 

“That was pretty fantastic,” Barry says, adding a glare at me for added effect. He knows what I’ve thought. He knows I’m not being nice in my head. 

“Who hasn’t sang yet?” Iris says, seemingly taking count around the table in a vicious game of Duck Duck Goose. “It’s only 10:30 and three have yet to sing. Eddie!” She calls out, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Nope. No, not happening. I do not sing. I don’t sing anything.” 

I peer at him for a moment, and push barely into his mind. I’ve got my answer before I even have to try. 

“I bet you I can pick a perfect song for you,” I start. I settle into my seat next to Barry. He nonchalantly throws his arm around my shoulders. 

So I slip into Barry’s mind, and he looks down at me, knowing what I’m doing. With his fingers grazing my skin, right where my shirt ends, I can just get far enough in. 

_What are you doing, Essie—_

“What is with you dropping challenges on Eddie all night?” Cisco giggles. “What’ve you got to prove—“ 

Eddie just squints at me. “If you guess right, I’ll go up there.” 

“How many chances does she get?” Iris asks. 

“She only needs one,” Cait says, stifling a chuckle behind her hand. I smack her lightly. 

“Let’s hear it, Price.” 

I close my eyes, miming deep thought. While I’m thinking, I slip some of my drunkenness to Barry. 

“Only the Good Die Young. Billy Joel.” 

His eyes grow wide. I look around the table, beckoning for praise. 

_How’re you gonna explain that one, genius?_

Barry winks at me. His cheeks flush a little. 

“How the hell did you do that?” 

I lean forward like I’m explaining a conspiracy. “Listen up. Guess what, guys? I’m… a mind reader.” 

Iris just giggles, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “You got lucky,” he says. 

“Sure. Sure, she got lucky,” Cait slurs in an attempt to be sarcastic. 

_Are you getting me drunk—_Barry. 

_Maybe a little._

_It may be working._

Eddie goes to sign up for his forced performance, and Barry announces it’s his turn to get the next round, leaving me with Cisco, Cait and Iris. 

Iris immediately jumps on the opportunity, leaning forward over the table. Her grin has faded. 

“Did you guys…?” 

“We talked about it,“ I say matter-of-factly. “It’s all out in the open. We are existing in an undefined world and I suggested we stay that way.” 

“You mean… you’re not upset?“ She asks. I’m getting readings of pure relief from her, like it was her fault. 

“I mean, a little, but it’s nothing that can be helped at this point,” I say, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t know—it’s complicated, but I’m willing to see how it ends—“ 

Cait cuts me off. “Barry! Barry. Barry’s back. Everyone say hi to Barry!” 

He just glances to me with a forced grin. 

_I don’t want to –_

_You don’t want to know._

He slips his arm around my shoulder again, and I know I have to start over. That’s fine though. He lets me into his mind quicker than he’s ever done and I nearly flood his brain with the symptoms I’m feeling. In fact, some of mine go away, so I grab for my vodka and look to replace it. 

I hear Barry exhale loudly, like he’d been hit by a wave of intoxication. 

I hear the piano introduction of the Billy Joel hit and we all immediately shut up. C’mon, he’s probably the one I wanted to hear most, after Barry. He’s either going to suck or rock. 

I’m nearly distracted by Iris’s mantra of _you’ve got this, baby_ repeated in her mind. 

He starts singing. 

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath and Iris lightly smacks my arm. 

“I know, right!” 

“But sooner or later it comes down to fate—I might as well be the one.” His voice is lower than Joel’s, but he’s got such a rich baritone voice that it makes me melt a little. “You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd, we ain’t too pretty; we ain’t too proud.” 

He’s getting into it now, and he knows the gauntlet’s truly been dropped and that he’s winning. He’s totally winning. 

He gets to the bridge and belts. His voice cracks at one point, because it’s almost too high, but damn. Damn. 

Barry nudges my arm. _Hey. Can you quiet down, please?_

_He’s good! I’m sorry—_

_Sign me up next._

I look at him in surprise. _What song?_

_I’ll tell him when I get up there._

_Are you slurring a little?_

_What? Nah. Never—_

“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners are much more fun—you know that only the good die young!” 

I stand up to let Barry out of the booth and up to the stage and in the meantime, I applaud to Eddie as he makes his way back to the table. I also hand him a shot, which he takes greedily. I take a few more shots, just for good measure, as Barry’s stolen intoxication slips back into my mind. 

“Never again.” 

“You were fantastic!” I say, slipping back into the booth after him. He just runs a hand through his hair. 

“Like I said—never again.” 

He does get a kiss from Iris for his trouble. 

I hear snapping. I quickly look to the stage, and Barry’s up there. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s not even drunk— 

“She keeps a Moet et Chandon in her pretty cabinet. ‘Let them eat cake,’ she says, just like Marie Antoinette—“ 

I gasp. I nearly fall out of the booth, but Cisco catches me. 

“No. No, no—no way. How did he know?” I hiss towards anyone who would listen. 

Cait just pats my hand. “Oh honey.” 

_Mind reading sometimes goes both ways if it’s done enough,_ Cisco thinks. 

I can’t help that I’m latched onto certain people. It’s just how my mind works now— 

“Caviar and cigarettes, well-versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice; she’s a killer queen—“ 

Oh, Bartholomew Henry Allen, you sound like you’re musical theater trained, but that tenor voice—oh, Lord. 

“Drop of a hat she’s as willing as—playful as a pussy cat; then momentarily out of action, temporarily out of gas to absolutely drive you wild, wild—she’s out to get you.” 

He winks at me. 

I just melt into a pile on the table. I’ve forgiven him. Maybe he still has feelings for her, but he’s definitely got something in his heart for me. And I’ll take it. I’ll take it. 

“So I hear it’s complicated?” Eddie says sassily. 

I don’t pick my head up from the table. “No comments from the peanut gallery.” 

“Doesn’t look complicated to me!” Cait says, articulating each word precisely, like she was trying not to slur. Cisco pushes a glass of ice water towards her, which she takes greedily. 

Barry comes back, with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. The table applauds him and he continues to look pleased. 

“So. Essie. Your turn to sing.” 

“Nope, not singing.” 

“We all sang!” Cait says accusingly. “It’s your turn!” 

I groan, knowing it’s 11:45 and the only way I’m going to get them off my back is if I do it too. I stand up like I’m about to walk the plank. 

Then I take my vodka and chug the nearly full glass. I point to the empty glass on the table. “I better have this replaced—“ I hiccup. Seriously? I’m better than this. “—before my return.” 

I start the trek up to the stage. This shouldn’t be so hard. I have to pick a song. What’s a song Mom always said I should sing? That my range is too low for anything else— 

The song’s already beginning before I can even gain my bearings. God, this mic is too high. I adjust it. There are a ton of people watching me. Son of a bitch. 

Barry’s looking at me with intense eyes, and I know I know the lyrics. 

"Rock on, gold dust woman, take your silver spoon, dig your grave."

I get into the song. Gotta love Fleetwood Mac. Damn, her range is low. My range is low. I’m okay with it. The table is transfixed. I think. 

“Did she make you cry? Make you break down? Shatter your illusions of love? And is it over now? Do you know how—pick up the pieces and go home.” 

During the instrumental break, Eddie lets out a loud whistle. 

“Thanks, boo,” I say into the mic and the table starts losing it. 

“Rock on, ancient queen. Follow those who pale in your shadow.” 

Barry leans over the side of the booth, not hiding his grin very well. I see Cait nudge Cisco. They’re looking from Barry back to me and to Barry again. Cait looks to Iris, and Iris just raises her eyebrows at Cait. 

Maybe I’m not crazy. 

I’m definitely not hallucinating that. 

I try to walk a straight line back to our table, but it’s not very straight at all. 

“I notice my drink is now filled,” I say, picking up the glass and holding it aloft. “I love this drink. I love this bar. I love every single one of you.” 

“I think that’s the signal she’s drunk off her ass,” Cisco says, finishing off his umpteenth beer. That boy needs to be wasted. 

_I do not need to be wasted. Stop projecting._

I sidle back up to Barry and as soon as we touch we both dive. He doesn’t want me to move anymore. I don’t know if it’s because he wants to be drunk too, or if he wants be close. 

_Both._

Karaoke is officially over, because stage now has a projector with New York City’s ball drop. Never been a big fan of it, but it’s acceptable. And although it’s an hour or so late, they usually have good music. This year I think Taylor Swift is on. I appreciate her immensely— 

I drag Barry out of the booth so we can see the broadcast better, and the others follow suit. Okay, maybe I do like the ball drop. It’s pretty exciting to see it with friends. 

Barry links his fingers into mine. “So, plans for next year?” 

I shrug. “At this point, I have no idea. Saving the world, maybe. Finding that Flash guy. He seems like a standup guy. Maybe I’ll join his team or something.”  
He scoffs. “What makes you think the Flash’s team would want you?” 

“I think I’ve got some skills that would make me indispensable,” I say, turning towards him and grabbing his other hand. 

He places my hand on his shoulder, and suddenly we’re dancing slowly to Auld Lang Syne. I couldn’t hear the raucous noise in the bar. It’s 2015. It’s already the new year. Cisco has already brought Cait out to dance with her and they look like they’ve been doing that for years—taking care of each other and being best friends. 

Eddie and Iris are within their own thoughts in the back of the booth— 

“God, you’re so distracted,” Barry laughs as the music segues into something by Sinatra. He pulls me close and starts swaying with me. 

“Start spreading the news… I’m leaving today,” he sings under his breath. 

“You should literally sing all the time,” I say. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Oh, my God, Barry, just kiss her already! It’s the new year!” Iris calls out. Eddie just gives him an encouraging nod. 

He moves my hand up to his shoulder, then lingers his hand in mine before pulling me closer at my waist. 

I can feel everyone watching, but he can’t, and or he doesn’t let it bother him because he doesn’t hesitate. I just close my eyes, and I feel his emotion mixing with mine: vodka, a touch of salt, and chocolate and peppermint. I pull him closer, opening my mouth against his, until it’s nearly all I can taste. 

He breaks away from me with a laugh, then spins me around. 

That’s the last thing I remember before blacking out. 


	17. Your Hand in Mine

**Thursday, Jan. 1, 2015 / 2:09 p.m. **

I think I’m alive. I mean, there’s no reason for me not to be. I mean, besides the crushing weight on my head. 

Lord. What the hell happened? I remember midnight, then… this moment. 

Somehow I ended up in my own bed. I don’t remember any of this. I don’t remember a time before my head didn’t hurt. 

Okay, first off, how did I get home? Secondly, did I get myself into my pajamas? I blink. The light is way too bright. I should probably go back to sleep. 

There’s a glass of water on my nightstand. And aspirin. I take them, and I chug the glass of water. 

I need to go investigate the noises I hear downstairs. I think it’s just Chekhov, but I have to make sure. 

I make myself a duvet cape before I do, though. 

It’s kind of cold. Ugh. My mouth tastes like something died in it. It’s not an unfamiliar taste. 

“It was all that vodka you drank last night.” 

The voice nearly makes me fall down the stairs. 

He looks just about as wrecked—his hair’s standing up on one side, and he’s wrapped himself in one of my afghans. Chekhov sits next to him on the couch, his eyes closed. I can hear him purring from here as Barry pets him. 

I just groan in response. 

“I don’t want to know, do I?” I say, starting the coffee maker. I’m going to need a lot of it. “I probably owe you an apology and definitely a thank you.” 

“I may have appropriated your couch,” he says, stretching and cracking his neck. “What do you remember? From last night.” 

I let out a chuckle. “Everything up until midnight.” He almost looks disappointed until I correct my statement. “I remember dancing and sharing a midnight kiss… then black.” 

“You did better than I anticipated,” he concedes. “You drank a lot. I mean, you drank a _lot_. It was quite impressive.” 

“I managed to help you get a bit drunk too, didn’t I?” I say, finding two mismatched mugs. 

“You did just that. So you remember nothing else?” 

I squint at him, bringing out my sugar and flavored creamers. “I’m going to be embarrassed, aren’t I?” 

“You’re going to read my mind if I don’t tell you anyways,” he says, half laughing and half serious. 

“We left the bar—everyone else headed home, but you declared we needed to go down to the Central City Park to mess with the street performers. After you sought out the ‘magicians’—or something you yelled in Russian—“ 

“Was it legkoy dobychey?” 

“I think so,” he says, looking slightly confused. 

“’Easy prey’,” I explain. 

“You took a guy for four hundred bucks, though, during a card trick before I dragged you away. You also declared you wanted to climb the statue in front of the CCPD, but I brought you home before you could either get yourself arrested or fired.” 

“That would have been so much fun, though!” I say, pouring out some coffee. I put some creamer in his and about a pound of sugar in mine before bringing them to the couch. “I see you stayed.” 

“You were too drunk, plus you declared I should stay.” 

“First off, you can never be too drunk and I did, now?” I say, ignoring him. I can’t look at him right now. Not with his sleepy eyes and his hair standing up in the back. I chug half my coffee to try to get rid of the nasty taste in my mouth. 

He nonchalantly flattens his hair down and takes his coffee cup. “Yeah, but not before we made out for a little while.” 

“What?!” I exclaim, nearly spilling my coffee. I set down my mug on the coffee table. “I’m so disappointed I cannot remember this!” 

“Oh, good, I thought you were disappointed you would let it happen for a second there—“ 

I just glare at him, then pull my duvet over my head. 

“I can’t handle this,” I mutter into the darkness. I can’t. I really can’t, it’s unfair. He’s unfair. 

“Why am I unfair?” 

“Am I projecting again—“ 

“You do it when you’re nervous.” 

“I’m not nervous.” 

“Sure, you’re not.” He pushes up the part of the duvet hanging over my face and the light hurts my eyes. 

He looks to my lips. I see him do it. He still looks tired, but I don’t even want to see myself right now, so I think it’s okay. I still taste vodka on my tongue. 

Barry grasps hold of the blanket and pulls me forward and I know I’m lost. I forget the conversations of the day before—the last year, in reality—and just fall into him. 

The first kiss of the new year, it’s in the dark of my heavy duvet, with half-shut eyes and light caresses, closed lips and a short gasp of breath. 

The second comes after Barry makes me let go of my black makeshift cape. I escape from the heavy air into the coldness of my apartment, and he rests a gentle hand on my neck, pulling me forward just enough to kiss me again. A bit more forceful, a bit more needy, and I inch towards him, not wanting him to pull away but he does anyway. 

The third comes from me. I’m frustrated. I want him to stay, I want him to linger. But he already knows that. He’s got a smirk on his face. 

“For a mind reader, you wear your heart on your sleeve,” he says. 

I retaliate by sliding into his lap, straddling him and leaving my blanket completely behind. 

For a moment, he looks up at me with a hazy grin: tired and hiding his surprise well behind it. “You didn’t do this last night.” 

“I don’t even remember last night!” I say, resting my hands on either side of his shoulders. He steadies me with his hands on my hips. I can feel his warm fingers just barely touching my skin where my shirt’s moved up. 

“You weren’t this delicate either,” he says, tilting his head up to meet my lips again. I don’t care that we both still taste vaguely like alcohol and coffee. I don’t care at all. And when I finally open my mouth against his, he doesn’t seem to care either. 

He doesn’t care until he suddenly stops, and I see him shaking. Just for a second, he’s not quite there, and he gently pushes me off his lap. 

“What’s wrong—“ 

“Nothing, it’s fine. It’s nothing,” he says, standing up and pulling his Chuck Taylors back on before checking his ringing phone—I know he just thanked God that it began ringing so he didn’t have to say anything. 

He’s moving too fast. His body is reacting like his mind— 

“It’s Cisco. Qua—Hyde’s been spotted.” 

I’m already brushing away the awkwardness around us. “During the day? I can’t even brush my teeth first?” 

He holds up a hand, making me wait for a moment. I take that time to run upstairs and throw on some clothes—as much black as I can find lying on the floor, which is more than I should admit. I find the box that Barry gave me and put the mask on and slip the earpiece into my ear. 

When I run back downstairs, Barry has already gotten himself into his red Spandex. 

“Do we have to do this agai—“ 

He cuts me off because we’re already moving. God, I hate this part. I’m glad I thought to bury my face in his shoulder so I don’t get motion sickness. 

We head into the familiar warehouse district. It looks different in the sunlight, but he doesn’t. In fact, he looks worse: the light glints off his sharp spines like poison drips from a snake’s fang. He drags the chain behind him, tilting his head to produce sparks. 

“Game plan?” 

I can barely move. My heartbeat jumps and it’s all I can hear in my head, save for Cisco. 

“Dude, her heart rate just skyrocketed. It’s 120 and rising. What the hell just—“ 

I can’t breathe. He tried to kill me last time. He almost succeeded. 

There’s no way to beat him. There’s no way, I realize. He’s already in my mind, in my body, causing me to lose control. 

He’s already in my mind. I can feel him there. 

And with a poof, he disappears. 

He was never here. 

I hear tsking. 

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter,” Jordan says. 

I block her out. I throw up a wall, and this time, she looks slightly impressed. 

“You’ve been learning.” 

“You can only screw with one of us at a time,” I say. “You can only—you can only get the powers to beat one of us. That’s your limitation.” 

“Maybe it is,” she says, circling us. “But this time, I just want to talk. You think you can handle that?” 

I don’t let down my wall, but I nod to Barry. 

“What do you want?” He asks unceremoniously. “Why did you come to the precinct?” 

“By now you know my connection to Jensson. He needs help. He’s been searching. Searching for someone like you. When you touched me months ago, I felt you. I saw where you were headed. I just want to talk to you—it never should have gone this far, but we didn’t have a choice. The muggings… they can stop. We’ve been trying to draw you out.” 

“What exactly was he trying to do?” Barry asks, circling Jordan. She follows him, raking him with her eyes. 

“Damn, that suit leaves nothing to the imagination. Listen, I can’t stop him. He switches forms at night, like he can’t control it. But he’s trying. He needs a telepath. A true telepath,” she corrects. 

“To do what, exactly?” I ask. “If you don’t remember, he killed someone!” 

“Don’t do it,” Cisco mutters through the earpiece. 

She ignores my murder statement. “He’s trying to cure his… problem. But ever since that damn accelerator exploded—which I’m sure is why you’re standing in front of me, and I’ve got it going on for me, too—he’s been different. He’s turned into something so wrong. But he—Erik—he thinks if he can harness the power of a telepath, he can use their thoughts to break his personality in two. Along with that, he needs an empath—to push the other one down and make it dormant.” 

“There’s no way I can do any of that,” I immediately say. “You’re out of your mind if you think that’s going to happen! I can’t split a soul! And like I said… remember, murderer?“ 

She steps towards me, and I throw up a shield around me and Barry. 

“You’ve got your orders, and I’ve got mine,” she says, holding her hands, palm up, in front of her. Two orbs of green electricity form. “Get the telepath, stop the speedster. It’s the only way, you know.” 

I hold the shield up, using my arm to shield my own eyes as she hurls the light at my iridescent shield— 

I slide on the ground, clamoring to get up. She shocked me out with those bolts. 

“Cisco! How the hell can I do that, too—“ 

I see two blurs running by and see Barry’s distracted her. Good thing, too. 

“Odessa! You can do the same, you just have to concentrate!” Dr. Wells calls out over the intercom. “Hold out your hands and use your power to concentrate all your energy—your mental bolts—into your hands. You have to breathe, Odessa. Stay calm. You have the power within you.” 

I close my eyes, I slow my breathing. I can do this. I have to do this. 

I form the bolt, deep in my mind, like I have before, but I put more power than I ever have behind it. The more power, the stronger the bolt, right? 

I feel sweat dripping down my forehead and slipping under my mask. 

“Odessa, your heart rate is spiking again—“ 

I open my eyes, I look at my hands. Balls of sparking, iridescent light the size of tennis balls grace my fingertips. 

“I really wish I didn’t throw like a girl,” I say, and Cisco lets out a whoop of joy. 

“Barry, you need to get her to slow down so Odessa can help you—“ 

“Got it!” 

At one end of the alleyway, I see Barry seemingly skid into the wall. It gives him just enough time to drop and roll out of the way. 

Like a one-two punch, I toss the light like a frisbee. Both hit her in the chest like heat-seeking missiles. 

“She has the same powers as you do, remember that, Odessa. But anything she does, it’s a secondary power.” 

“You mean anything she can do, I can do better?” 

“… precisely,” I hear Dr. Wells add. 

Jordan, now looking out of breath and a little shocked, drags herself to her feet. “You’re going to be sorry you didn’t help him. He’s going to wreak havoc, and this will be your fault! You could have helped him!” 

“He’s already wreaking havoc!“ I call back. 

With a flick of her wrist, she develops another green ball of light and almost as quickly tosses at Barry. He catches it in his chest and goes down. 

I start to call out, but I suddenly can’t move. I’m locked into position, I can’t quite get a grip— 

“That’s your problem,” she says, wiping blood off her mouth. “You’ve got people telling you you’re the good guys, aren’t they? You’re doing the right thing, stopping those metahumans from doing bad things. But you know what you should be doing? Trying to help them. Trying to help them from becoming the monsters they seem to become. You have powers. You should be using them for good, not for complacency.” 

I can’t move. I can barely breathe. She has me locked. She has my entire body on lockdown. I can only move my eyes. 

“If you could just understand your own abilities, can you imagine the things you could do? The things we all could achieve? We would all be gods.” 

“I don’t want to be a god,” I manage through clenched teeth. “I just want to help people—“ 

“That’s what you could do, but instead you’re just a tiny pawn. Me? I’m the queen on the chessboard. We aren’t bad people. We just have to learn how to use our powers for the greater good, not just by helping mugging victims in alleyways.” 

“Hey—don’t let her do that to you!” Barry calls out, finally getting up. Could have used him before—“You can fight it!” 

“You can’t fight it, Essie,” she says, tilting her head like the creature—Jensson—tends to do. She twists her wrist, and in my hand appears a green ball of light. With several twists of her wrist, it grows bigger and brighter. 

Barry realizes he can’t move either. He tries, but to no avail. 

We’re literally trapped. 

She forces me to step towards him, and the light grows brighter than I’ve ever seen it before. But it’s in my hand. She’s forcing me to create it. I can feel the sweat dripping, my knees threatening to buckle. 

“You think you’re the hero? Think again,” she says through her own clenched teeth. This is just as hard as it is for her as it is for me. 

It’s like I’m pushing through cement caked in sandpaper. 

Wait— 

I push against her. I push against her control on my mind, until she lets out a whimper. I can’t feel it, but my left hand inches upward. It inches up just far enough—just enough and I touch Barry’s forearm. It’s not bare skin, but I can push through the material, push through her pushing against me, and like I did last night, I transfer emotions. I transfer thoughts. 

In fact, I transfer her control over to me. 

I’m dizzy, I can’t breathe, I drop to my knees. Everything is numb, constricting. 

I can’t stay, I think—I can’t— 

No, focus. Stop. 

Every part of my body feels like it’s sinking into the ground. I’m a rock, and everyone’s disappeared. 

He’s back. 

Hyde, he looks down on me, he reaches for my hand, reaches for my wrist and I’m sure he’s going to take whatever he can from my brain to fix his— 

I can’t even fight back. He takes my wrists and pulls me to my feet, and I push against his chest, doing whatever I can to force him to break his hold on— 

“Essie. Essie! It’s me—“ 

I blink and Barry’s grasping me. 

“She’s gone,” Barry whispers, holding onto me tightly. “You broke her hold on me, and chased her off.” 

“I saw him. She made me—I hallucinated him,” I mutter. 

He just pulls me into a hug. 

* * *

When we get back to S.T.A.R. Labs, the jury is split on our next moves. 

“I think you should speak to him,” Wells restates. “You don’t know what you could do to help him.” 

“I agree,” Cait says. “If there’s any hope for him, you should try.” 

“Absolutely not,” Cisco says. “How many people has he hurt? How many times has he hurt you? And did we forget he’s a murderer?” 

“Cisco’s right,” Barry says shortly. 

“If he can cure dissociative identity disorder through you, would you do it?” Cait says, her hand on her hip. She doesn’t look too happy right now, but she’s also hungover. 

“I have no idea what he’s going to want to do with me,” I state, holding the ice pack to my forehead. I’ve got a spidery bruise forming around my eye from God knows what. 

“That’s why you have to communicate,” Wells emphasizes. 

“I don’t want anything to do with them,” I say. “They were going to kidnap me! They were going to kill Barry! Probably.” 

“See? That’s a valid point!” Cisco says, gesturing towards me. 

“You have to be careful regardless of how you want to proceed,” Wells says. “Perhaps it’s best to let Essie consider her options before coming back with a plan.” 

“What if he goes after her again?” Cait asks. “We have to do something now.” 

“He won’t,” I say simply. “Neither will Jordan. When we were in each other’s minds… they’re not going to do it again. They’re going to wait until the gala.” 

“The gala. He’s been planning it for months. Do you know what they plan to do yet?” Cisco asks. “Can we plan for anything there? An attack? Or something?” 

I toss the icepack into the sink, and Cisco gives me a shrug of respect. Maybe I don’t throw like a girl. “Not yet. You get me into the gala, though, and I can figure it out.” 

“Like that one episode of Fringe,” Cisco says, grinning. 

“I really liked that episode,” I comment. 

“You would. It’s about a mind reader.” 

“Came out before the accelerator explosion.” 

Wells huffs a bit. “Odessa, please make your decision by tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest. It’s barely three and we’ve already had a rough day.” 

“A helluva year so far,” I snark, but no one seems to find it amusing. 

“Nice mask, though,” Cait says, turning back to her charts and figures on the computer screen. 

Cisco gives a knowing grin. “And who do you think designed that beauty?” He remarks. 

Barry dons his street clothes in a moment and turns back to me. “I can take you home.” 

“Please—“ I gasp, the air almost knocked out of me, “—do.” 

I glare at him while I unlock my apartment door. 

“You know I hate it when you do that.” 

“I know,” he says, grinning. 

Walking in, I pull myself up onto my countertop and set my mask down on the counter next to me, pressing another ice pack I had found in my freezer to my eye tentatively. 

“You know I could get rid of that for you really easily,” Barry says, crossing his arms and peering at me frustratedly. He kicks my door shut with a well placed kick. 

“I’m not going to do that. I can’t do that to you,” I say, cringing. I don’t even want to see it. It probably looks awful. “Great start to the year, right?” 

“Hey, it was going well so far.” 

I throw the icepack into my sink for lack of better planning, and then hop off the countertop. “Never thought I would be out in the field, so to speak. My ‘powers’ aren’t really what you’d call offensive. They’re defensive at best. God, Barry. What am I going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I have no idea. It’s your power. It’s your choice.” 

“What if he kills me? What if he tries to kill you?“ 

“We won’t let that happen,” he immediately says. “I won’t let that happen.” 

I sit down on my couch, brushing my frizzy hair back from my face. Barry nearly collapses on the other end. 

I peer down at him, and he just stares out my two-story window. He looks out into the skyline, resting his hand on his mouth and for a moment, he’s slowed down. Everything’s slowed down. He barely moves, save for a breath. 

“You’re doing it again,” he says quietly, not moving. 

“Doing what again?” I ask, breathless. 

“You’re projecting. You do it when you don’t think you’re doing it.” 

“Oh? Oh—“ 

He turns to me, slides down from his end of the couch, then brushes my hair back from my face and tilts it to look at my black eye. 

“Essie. Would you please let me help?” 

“Would it make you feel better?” 

“It really would,” he says, and while he attempts at humor, it comes out weak. It’s his damn eyes. He brings me in with those damn hazel eyes and why is he grinning again— 

“I’m just uh—I’m going to stop thinking. Forever. From now… until eternity,” I stutter, reaching up to his hand. I let our skin touch, and he cringes only slightly. The pain around my eye dissipates while a nasty bruise appears around his. With a mere shake of his head, though, it’s already half gone. 

“See? No harm, no foul.” 

He doesn’t move his hand from my face. Before I know it, I have my hands on his stubbly cheek and pull his lips into mine. He drops his hand to my waist in an attempt to make sure I don’t move away, it seems, so his hesitation seems to be dissipating. 

I’m not going to move away. Why would I? 

But if this could go any further—and I wish it will— 

I shed my black hoodie, tossing it to the floor when I stop to take a breath. 

“Essie… we can’t,” he breathes, “I can’t.” 

“Why the hell not?” I begin. 

“I don’t—we shouldn’t move so fast,” he begins, clearing his throat. 

“Is this about what happened before?” I say. He looks hesitant this time. “What if I could fix it? Temporarily, I mean. I can transfer emotions, right? I can take someone’s feelings, change them, negate them, alleviate them… I can change mental states, right? I just did it. Earlier, and last night.” 

He looks confused. “I’m listening.” 

I bite my lip. I have to commit to this, or it’s not going to work. 

“I have a theory.” I’m actually making it up as I go. “What if… I can use my power to… you know, level you out? Maintain a certain level without you going too high or going too low. I would have to stay emotionally connected with you for… the duration, and there would be some side effects—“ 

He raises his eyebrow at me. “Explain yourself, Price.” 

I pull my hair back from my face, feeling my anxiety increase. It shouldn’t be this hard. “Well, I would take your… excess emotion for that period of time. Meaning my emotions would be heightened. And then I would control um, letting go of those emotions. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You move too fast, you’re not in control. It’s like your metabolism, but not. So—“ 

He looks a bit confused, just so, but he has to at least understand a little—he kisses me deeply, slipping his hand under my hair. 

“There’s only one way to find out,” I finally get out, once he starts moving his lips down my chin and to my neck. I realize he’s basically stopped paying attention to me, and barely touching him gives me the bitter taste of sea salt on my tongue. 

“Mr. Allen, are you nervous?” 

He pulls me closer to him with a hand on my waist. I use the leverage to slip back onto his lap, but all I can taste is salt in his mouth. 

“Barry, if you don’t want—I know that we’ve had a rough week, mentally, physically and emotionally—” I’m afraid I’m just a distraction. I don’t want to just be a distraction, I realize. 

“No, no, I do, I do—“ He says as I stand up. He actually looks distraught once I do. 

“I can do this. I can, if you trust me. So I’m going to go upstairs, and you’re welcome to join me. If not, you’re also welcome to join me for other things.” 

He chuckles. “Like what?” 

I shrug. “I’ve got a chess board up there, or we could play poker. But let me give you a bit of advice: be careful playing poker against a Russian.” I start towards my staircase. 

“And why is that?” 

I lean over the railing. “They cheat. So much. And when they think you’ve caught on, they only do it more, because they know you’re too intimidated to do anything about it.” 

I don’t let him comment. Instead, I run up my stairs, almost giggling. 

He’ll follow. He’ll be up here. I know he will. He just needs a minute to think about it. 

Maybe. 

I think he will. I could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking— 

I run into my bathroom, freshen up. I don’t know what my eye looked like before, but it was perfectly fine now. 

This has been the weirdest first day of the year ever. 

Hopefully it becomes one of the best. 

You can totally do this. Maybe I can find my flask. I think it’s on my bedside table— 

I grab my condoms and slip them in my pocket, just in case, and open the bathroom door. 

He’s barely made it up the stairs, and he looks a little nervous, I catch his heavy anxious vibes—instead of saying anything, though, he closes the distance between us a flurry of motion and he’s suddenly kissing me again. 

I start with his sweater—he lets me drag it off, holding his arms too far above his head so I can’t reach. 

“You are too monstrously tall. This is unfair. I need a ladder.” He just giggles and finishes what I started. I know he’s still nervous, but it’s fading with each kiss, with each movement, with each attempt at humor that I give him. 

I start unbuttoning his shirt but he interrupts me by pulling my own shirt over my head, leaving me in my bra. 

“Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” I comment, trying to speed up my button work. I realize I’m biting my own lip in concentration, so he interrupts by kissing me again. I finally get him unbuttoned and discard the shirt as well. 

“Hey, I was told there would be chess; I don’t know what you think I came up here for,” he says—I kick off my boots, and he ditches his Chucks, and I take his hand, pulling him towards my bed. I push him down onto it, so he’s sitting on the edge. 

“Don’t you know? We’ve already started the game. Pawn to E4.” I pull his white undershirt off, thankful to finally get to the end. And I am so rewarded by his abs. Damn, that boy got blessed. 

I toss my condoms onto the bedside table and push him back onto the bed. He inches back to my pillows— 

“Are you starting the Sicilian Defense?” He asks, completely honestly, distractedly; I make it that much worse by straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him again. 

“If white starts out with the Sicilian, I’ve got a 50/50 chance of scoring,” I whisper, trailing my mouth down along his jawline and to his neck. 

“I haven’t done this in a while, you know—“ He says. 

“What, play chess?” I ask innocently. 

He just glares at me, so I get serious. “Me neither, so looks like we’re in this together,” I mutter, raking my teeth against his neck. I hear him take a heavy breath, like he’s concentrating too hard. 

He runs his fingers over my bare sides. He’s warm, he’s almost too warm, and his touch makes me aware of how cold my skin feels. 

He sits up, holding onto me with splayed fingers on my back. He nuzzles into my neck this time, and instead of leaving a trail like I did, he focuses on a part of my collarbone that made me gasp when he runs his teeth lightly over me. 

He grasps at my bra hooks, and he can’t quite get it, and I start laughing as he looks to me, humorously frustrated. 

“You could help me, you know.” 

“I like your struggle.” 

He finally pulls the hooks apart, holding the fabric still in his hands. He doesn’t break eye contact with me—that smirk is about all I can take. He gently reaches up to my bra straps, sliding them down over my arms until he can discard the item all together. 

And all too suddenly, he starts moving too fast, becoming a blur, just for a moment before he closes his eyes and drops slowly back down onto my bed spread. 

“I don’t know how you’re going to do this, but if you’re going to do it, do it now,” he says. 

I close my eyes and touch my fingers to his bare chest. 

His energy is almost overwhelming, overpowering, burning. I find the emotion I need—desire, arousal—latch onto it. I’ve grabbed emotions, I’ve held them steady before, but not quite like this. 

When I open my eyes, he’s not shaking anymore, and I gasp, I shiver. 

For a moment, I see in double vision, and I lick my lips—the feeling is dizzying. It’s like we’re moving too fast but standing still all at once. 

“Why do I taste chocolate?” He asks, but he seems to already know the answer. Chocolate, and peppermint, and a burning fireplace. 

“It’s working,” I say, “It has to be working.” 

His thoughts aren’t really coherent, but I have to remember, mine probably aren’t either, and we’re in each other’s minds now so nothing is sacred. 

He pulls me down to him, he slips his hand around my neck and under my hair and pulls me into another deep kiss. He runs his tongue on mine and it almost feels like static electricity—no, not a metaphor, in reality. 

“So let me get this straight—“ 

“I took enough arousal from you to make sure you could stay in control,” I murmur. I’m hyperaware of every touch, every shift of weight, every breath. I’m guiding my own body, but I feel like I’m partly in his, too: just by feeling, not by physicality; it’s like reading a mind, reading emotions but holding them in stasis instead of taking them. I’m holding them at bay, stopping their complete takeover of his mind but giving him just enough. 

I realize this explanation seeps into his mind, too. He understands now, I realize; I close my eyes and feels his hands, the soft pads of his fingertips, the lines of his fingerprints etch their way down my back. I’m aware of each whorl and his double time heart beat in his veins. 

He gently flips me, letting me slip down into the warm covers; I keep my hand loosely on his shoulder, my fingers caressing his collarbone. 

He drags his lips across mine then shifts his weight until he can reach my jeans; he unbuttons them, careful not to move too far as to fall out of my reach. I manage to push them off the rest of the way, wiggling, eliciting a laugh from Barry. 

“This would be so much easier if you didn’t have to be the Flash,” I say sarcastically, flipping him back over to land on the pillows. He lets his hand run the length of my arm, and I pull down his jeans, leaving him to fend for himself. 

“This would be so much harder if you weren’t an empath,” he responds, arching upwards to meet my mouth once more once he’s discarded his jeans. We’ve barely touched, but I can feel the crescendo building under my skin, just barely, just enough for me to gasp when he twists his fingers in lazy circles on my hips. 

I lean down to pull off his boxers; I rest my hand on his abs, half out of necessity and half out of desire. As I push his boxers down, he helps by kicking them off. I can’t help but admire him in his entirety. 

I lean back up over him, to reach for my condoms, and he lets out a nervous chuckle. 

I nearly slip, lose my touch on him, but he grasps onto my hip, granting me stability. I toss my condoms back onto the bed for easy access. 

“And what are you laughing about—“ 

“You thought I was impressive,” he says, coyly putting his hands behind his head. 

“You’re blushing,” I snap, not able to hide my grin. But I can feel him, I can feel him between my own legs, so I pull my own underwear off. His thoughts, while not clear, give me a sense of pride as well. 

He pulls me back down. I take his hands, slip them around my neck, so he buries his fingers in my hair again. 

He tastes like dark chocolate. It’s just getting worse; he runs his fingers down my side and to the small of my back, and I arch against it, drawing him upwards too. 

Every touch with his tongue feels like a pinprick of light on my skin: hot, brilliant, and lasting. 

He knows I can’t handle the dance any longer—he drops back down onto the bedspread. So I take my condoms, I slip one on him, his cheeks already flushed. I don’t know if it’s because of his emotions or my emotions at this point, and I feel like my heart’s going to jump out of my chest. 

I wrap my hand around him and slowly push him inside of me; he closes his eyes, he draws a quick breath, holding onto my thighs with splayed fingers. I shift my weight, I move against him, my own hands resting lightly on his abs, just for stability, and he lets me take control for the time being. He knows I’ve always been in control, whether he liked it or not—he smiles, just enough, for he’s trying to breathe slower as he watches me. I move against him slowly, trying to breathe like him. 

“What’s it feel like?” He asks, innocently, genuinely. 

“What—what do you mean?” 

He leans on his hands, shifting upwards, then pulls my legs behind his back. He crosses his legs underneath me so I’m sitting in his lap; it moves him deeper inside of me and it makes me shudder. 

“You’re inside my head. My emotions…” His brow furrows, like he can’t find the words to explain what it really is we’re doing. “What does it even feel like?” 

He trails his mouth down my neck and to my chest and I let my head lull backwards. He supports me wholly with his hands against my back; I lean into him. 

“It’s electric,” I begin, feeling his lips trace down the center of my chest and back up. “It’s—it’s fire. It’s like—“ 

He circles his tongue over my nipple, and I let out a gasp. I can’t help it. It’s stronger than the last, and he seems surprised. 

“You’re the one who suggested it,” He says, biting his lip and grinning. 

“I did no such thing—“ 

He cuts me off by doing it again, and I very nearly sink my nails into his biceps. 

“You were saying?” 

I can’t finish my thought just yet, I can’t because he’s turned his attention to the other, and I can feel my toes curl. 

“It’s like… it’s like every nerve in my body is slowly catching flame. I can’t breathe deep enough. Everything’s flame and—and lightning.” 

I can’t form words anymore, so instead I cut off his still coherent thoughts by drawing his mouth back up to mine. I lean down, he leans up, and we move together, gasping for air when we both need it. 

His lips on mine taste like gold, like light, like the sun in the middle of July, and he knows my thoughts. He’s feeding off them, my emotions, our emotions, the ones I took from him to feed my own desires. It’s like I’m filtering everything negative through my own ability: what makes him move too fast shifts to me in intensity, and it returns back to him through his connection with me. 

I pull him tightly against me in an embrace, rocking against him. 

He’s determined to leave a bruise on my neck, or he wants to hear every noise that comes out of mouth, little or loud, but it doesn’t take long for each noise to be louder than the next. 

“Your neighbors are going to hear,” he whispers, and I can feel his lips moving against my skin. 

“They don’t hear anything from my apartment,” I whisper back, “Only Chekhov meowing and the occasional Stravinsky ballet.” 

He does that thing where he scrunches his face up to laugh, and it makes me laugh too just watching him. I kiss him again, I kiss him again and again, and I’m losing control. I feel it slipping; not in a bad way, just in a way that means I am controlling less and less of the situation. 

So I let just a touch of his emotions back to him, not enough to cause distress, and he lets out a moan against my mouth. 

The gold isn’t quite as brilliant, and the sun doesn’t hurt my eyes but the static electricity remains. And even though I let some of him back into his own mind, I don’t feel like any part of me has changed, like the feelings keep building in my soul regardless of who they belong to. 

He seems to push ever further into me, figuratively, literally, with skin against skin and mind against mind. 

He grasps my hips, and we fall into a deeper rhythm, and I’m breathing heavier and so is he; he looks up to me in sheer reverence, giving me a hazy grin which I cut off with another moan. This time, he laughs. 

“Don’t laugh at the noises I make,” I chide, burying my fingers in his hair, “I’m—I’m the one managing the sex drive of two.” 

“You seem to be enjoying it,” he retorts, just barely, before I retaliate and slip just a tiny bit more of what he could be feeling back to him. He tenses up, nearly burying his face in my chest to dull the sound that comes out of his mouth. 

“Serves you right,” I manage. But I’m getting close, which means so is he. I can’t hold it off for too long, but that’s fine when I’m the one in complete control over the both of us. 

I gently grasp his hair, and he presses his palms against my shoulder blades, our lips still locked and my hips still moving. 

I don’t have to warn him, because he already knows. 

I feel a rush of heat, it courses over my skin like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, and I’m breached with a moment of clarity. 

I arch upwards, and he runs his lips down my throat, I try to stave off the feeling flooding my bloodstream, just a little longer. I’m not ready to leave this feeling, it’s toxic and addicting all at once, but I know it can’t be forever. It can’t last forever. 

He lets out one last moan and the guttural sound in his throat sends me over the edge. Colors burst behind my eyelids. I see gold and silver and red swirling against the black. 

I gasp for breath, his body shaking, shaking normally, skin against skin, sweat against sweat, and it takes us both a moment for the colors to fade, the sunlight to go back to normal, like being outside for too long and coming inside and feeling like every room was too dark. 

But when the colors dull, Barry brushes my sweaty hair back from my face, my shoulders, and our heaving breaths fall in sync. 

He doesn’t have to say a word, and he doesn’t even try. I’m not even in his head anymore, I realize. 

But he doesn’t have to say a word. 


	18. Teaming Up

**Tuesday, Jan. 13, 2015 / 2:07 p.m. **

How do I even still have a job? It’s been months now and I spend all my time at S.T.A.R. Labs. It’s a wonder they haven’t found me shirking yet. I wonder if they pay well at S.T.A.R. Labs. I wonder if they’re hiring telepaths. 

I let my mind wander again and it’s no surprise where it finds itself. I’m suddenly back on New Year’s Day, after the fight and in Barry’s arms. 

Then, again, later, and again much later. Then yesterday, I even convinced him to meet me in my back closet. That was my favorite so far, I decided. Definitely my favorite. 

“Essie, stop projecting,” Barry calls back to me, his lips curving up into a smile. 

_Did anyone else hear that?!_

_Nah, Cisco still looks like he’s going to kill a dude, and Cait would have said something, to be honest_, he responds back. _And yesterday was pretty amazing._

_You were nervous as hell._

_Was not._

_Empath._

_Damn._

I realize I probably should put my two cents into the argument, since I had made the decision not to speak to Jensson about the issue. 

My reasoning included him trying to kill both me and Barry, he’s already killed once, along with going nuts and trying to mug or murder several other people in an attempt to figure out how to handle his newfound Hyde-ness. 

I was not here for that party. Nope. 

There are some people that are too far gone to be saved. 

And now—now it was Price vs. State of Missouri and whether insanity plus assault with a deadly weapon could be given the death sentence. 

Ultimately, though, it was my choice to help the man or not. 

And I choose not. 

Barry and Cisco came to my rescue as the Nelson and Murdock crew to defend my decision. Caitlin and Dr. Wells, on the other hand, decided to fight in favor of the scientist—in a cruel twist of fate, though, I could see their point. 

“Could you imagine how you could help him? If you can figure out how to split the parts of his mind and bury the less dominant, you could literally help thousands of people. You could effectively wipe out Dissociative Identity Disorder with your power,” Cait explains. 

“As a psychologist, you should feel obligated to complete such an act—“ 

“Not to a man who tried to kill her multiple times!” Cisco calls out against Wells. “The situation would be so much different if he didn’t try to kill her. Kill her and Barry.” 

“Nothing separates him from the other metahumans we’ve put in our makeshift prison,” Barry says. “He’s a criminal. He’s hurting people. And we’re the only ones that can stop it.” 

“And even you and Essie can’t stop it,” Dr. Wells comments. “Do you have any other opinions on how to make this metahuman stand down?” 

“I did manage to call in some backup,” Barry says, and Cisco nods in support. “They should be here soon.” 

“You called in backup?” Caitlin exclaims, seemingly offended. “You didn’t, did you—“ 

“Their train from Starling City was supposed to come in about a half hour ago,” Barry says, checking his watch. 

I perk up. “Starling City? Did you call the Arrow?” Now this is what I’m talking about—the proper team to take down this metahuman. The brains and the brawn. 

Cisco taps the computer screen which shows the security cams. “Looks like they’ve made it.” 

“Odessa, I still believe you are making the wrong decision,” Dr. Wells says, wheeling his way over to me. “Please consider what we’ve said here.” 

“He needs to be apprehended,” I say, standing my ground. “But if there’s a way to fix him—after we’ve done our due diligence as protectors of this city—then I will see what I can do.” 

“You realize, Dr. Price, if things were different, you could have also turned out like him.” 

“Things aren’t different, Dr. Wells. Things are exactly how they are supposed to be at this moment in time.” 

He silently peers at me, and I feel that darkness, that void when I try to push against his mind, like he would never let me even close to the walls against his thoughts. Without another word, he leaves the lab, and I don’t want to know what he’s doing. 

“—we were just talking about how we could stop this guy,” Barry says, escorting a pair of individuals through the lab door. The girl would be about my height if it weren’t for those heels. And she could rock them, to say the least. With the hot pink dress and that high blonde ponytail, she could get it. Automatic girl crush, I think. 

She adjusts her rectangular framed glasses as she looked about the room, saying hello to each of them in turn. She gives both Cait and Cisco hugs. 

But she’s not the one I’m very interested in. The tall, well-built man standing behind her with a large duffel over his shoulder surveys the exits while she surveys the people. Rugged, scruffily bearded; he looks like he could kill me with a thought. Hell, I could kill him with a thought. Supposedly. I haven’t gotten that far yet. But he—he looks like he could actually do it. 

But he also looks like he could make you melt if he smiled, and he does just that when he finishes a short conversation with Barry. 

“Felicity, Oliver; this is Dr. Odessa Price,” Barry says, gesturing towards me. Felicity immediately closes the distance between us and puts out her hand for me to shake. “Hello! You must be the mind reader. Can you shut it off? I really hope you can, because you do not want to be inside of my brain on any given day. It can get awkward, even for me.” 

I just shake her hand during her short rant—“You can call me Essie.” I get a cacophony of thoughts from her. I feel my head begin to pound, but I try to shut it down. Damn, she’s loud. “No, I—I can shut it down,” I lie. 

“Oh, good,” she begins, but Barry interrupts her to help her start setting up their equipment. He gives me a wide-eyed look, and I’m left with the tall brooding one. 

“Oliver Queen,” I begin. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

He’s classically good looking, remarkably so; I’m getting an anxious, tired vibe from him, one that is bookended with fear and duty. Something tells me he’s got something deep inside his mind he never wants anyone to find out. 

“I don’t tell my secret to just anyone,” he says. “You took that choice away from me.” 

“It really wasn’t my choice either,” I snap back, crossing my arms since he doesn’t make a move to shake my hand. “Trust me, if I could have shut it off the first couple months, it would have been nice. I would have preferred the silence. Not all of us metahumans can start zooming around after waking up from a coma,” I say, dropping my voice low. “It’s a little bit harder to adjust.” 

“The world’s changed, and you’re the one who’s different,” he says, his face softening just barely. 

“I’m sorry I found out. I know it’s not reassuring, but I knew for about four months. I have no one that would benefit from that information. And I wouldn’t want any of Barry’s friends to get hurt because I couldn’t control my power. You’ve got to survey the area, see the stakes before making a decision.“ 

He nods, then holds out his hand for me to shake. I take it, knowing it’s a sign of at least his tentative approval. 

Felicity starts rapid fire speaking. “So, Barry, I know you said you had a rogue metahuman that even you couldn’t stop, but do you want to give us the full details? We just brought our standard equipment—didn’t bring anything special, you know, like the—“ 

“—Felicity, that’s still under development,” Oliver says, and I see a twinge of a smile from his lips. 

“Right,” she says, cutting down on her flailing a bit. 

“Just give us the rundown,” Oliver says, crossing his arms. He’s got a stance like a soldier, but I know his history: billionaire’s son, playboy, presumed dead in a shipwreck, then resurfaced five years later in Starling City. 

And now he’s the Arrow. 

Man, what I would pay to see him shoot— 

“—Essie, can you explain some of the powers these two have?” 

“Huh?—oh,” I wasn’t paying attention to the explanation, but Barry gives me enough through his brainwaves I can catch up. “Well, we’ll start with Jordan Hart, who Cisco has named Nemesis. She’s just that—she can develop powers to fight any one opponent. She’s also the lab assistant to Jensson, and she’s fighting to get him help; she fights dirty. That’s why we needed backup—we thought if she could be overwhelmed, she could be taken. 

“That brings us to Dr. Erik Jensson himself. Or Hyde. His powers are seemingly endless. We can’t seem to stop him—he morphs into another form and has telepathic powers as well. He was trying to cure his own DID, which as a neurologist, he’s got it in his mind he can fix it. Well, the way Jordan puts it, he can’t. They’ve come after me because I’m a telepath and empath, and Hart seems to think I’m capable of putting him back together again. Because of his continued attacks and her behavior towards me and Barry, I’ve decided not to help him and we’re going after him. He’ll be safer locked up than roaming the streets.” I look to Cait. “If we can get him, and get him under lock and key, maybe there’s a way to help him. But I won’t feel safe until then.” 

“So, how are we going to take this Jensson down?” Oliver asks. I feel like he’s peering into my soul. 

“Nothing seems to phase the two of them,” I say. “Especially… especially Jensson. He can cause you to hallucinate. Vividly, too. I’ve seen a lot of things I can’t explain because of him, and he’s tried to kill me—he’s almost succeeded—multiple times. He’s a dangerous guy. Very dangerous. I’m convinced the only way to stop them is to overwhelm them. Hart, she can only face one foe at a time with her power. If she has to deal with more than one, she can’t develop the power to perfectly counter them, right?” 

“What about Hyde?” Oliver asks. “What’s his weakness?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know his weakness. He doesn’t seem to have any. My best guess is like Hart, overwhelm him, mentally and physically. Mental powers are very strong defensively, but can be easily overtaken and turned offensive. Unfortunately,” I say, shrugging. 

“So protect you at all costs, while overwhelming the two of them?” Barry recaps. 

“Yes, that seems to be the plan at this point. We’ve got three. Is it going to be enough?” I ask. 

“We’ve got another member of our team coming too,” Felicity offers. “He’s a bit… preoccupied at the moment.” 

I get a mixed transmission from her mind and can’t help but speak. “A secret A.R.G.U.S. mission, you mean?” 

Her eyes get wide, and she kind of smiles, like she’s unhappy I know but she’s fascinated by the fact I could. 

“Is it like that all the time?” She says, addressing the other members of the team. “I mean, does she mess with you? Do you play card games with her and do you epically lose?” 

“No, but she’s fantastic at drinking games,” Cisco offers. “But that has nothing to do with her powers, just her Russian roots.” 

I get a pique of interest out of Oliver. “Can you speak any Russian?” 

“Ya svobodno vladeyu,” I say. I’m fluent. 

Felicity rolls her eyes. “You just made an awful mistake.” 

Oliver turns back towards me, a full smirk on his face. “Ya soglasen s vashim resheniyem o Yyensen.” I agree with your decision on Jensson, he says. 

“Gorbatogo mogila ispravit,” I say. Only the grave will cure the hunchback—a person can never change his character. 

With a nod and a smirk, I know I have the Arrow of Starling City on my side. 

“You better not be talking smack,” Felicity says, eyeing Oliver. His mouth barely lifts into a smirk. 

“Vy byli znakomstva dolgo?“ I ask, but he side-eyes me like I’ve cursed his mother or something rather than ask their dating history. 

“Eto slozhno.” I don’t want to hear how complicated he thinks it is. 

“Vy ne pozvolyayete sebe lyubit' yeye, ne tak li?“ I know I’m overstepping giving him dating advice, but not letting himself pursue her is, in my opinion, worse than falling for her and letting her get hurt. 

“Overstepping,” he says, giving me a glare. I may have lost that trust I barely gained before. 

“So how are we going to catch this guy?” Felicity says. “I’m hearing a lot of speculation, but not a lot of planning.” 

Cait turns to the computer and pulls up the a video from a local media source. 

“Dr. Erik Jensson has announced that this Saturday, his formal masquerade gala benefit to announce his work on personality and the brain is to be held at the Enfield-Harris Grand Hotel. Those wishing to get an invite would have to pay upwards of $15,000 per attendee,” the anchor states with fervor. 

“So we have four days to come up with a better plan than storming the gala by force,” Cisco says. “We’ve done better with less.” 

“Well, first, how are we going to get in?” Felicity asks. “I could snag an invite.” 

“How are you going to do that?” I ask in disbelief. She just twiddles her fingers in response. 

“It’s a no-go,” Cisco says, leaning over the keyboard. “It’s all paper. Nothing online.” 

“My super powers end there,” she says, sitting down roughly into a chair. 

I try to butt in, but Oliver starts. 

“What’s their security like? Can you hack into the hotel’s systems?”  
Cisco moves aside to let Felicity at the computer screen. As soon as she starts typing, she starts chuckling under her breath. 

“There. Here’s the live security feeds. You think you could get all three of you in undercover?” 

“—hey, guys—“ 

“Right, but you wouldn’t know when this guy’s going to attack. Or if he’s going to attack. You could be going in blind without any sort of knowledge whatsoever,” Cait adds. 

_I have a suggestion!_

I send out the mass blast. Cisco, Barry and Cait barely look surprised, but Felicity lifts her hands off the keyboard in shock and Oliver looks like he’s trying to find the origin of the attack. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, but hey. Just to remind everyone about getting into said gala… I’m a telepath. I can influence minds,” I articulate. “I can get us in. I can basically get any of us in.” 

The various facial expressions range from ‘duh’ to ‘a good idea’; the latter coming from Felicity. 

“What about this,” I begin, pushing into Felicity’s mind for a moment and requesting the building schematics on the computer. “We put your man Diggle on the inside. We can infiltrate him as security.” 

“Did you just jump in my brain and ask me to do something?” Felicity quickly muses mid-type. “It… it tickled a bit. You seriously jumped in my mind and it tickled. Ugh. That’s impressive and creepy.” 

“Thank you. Impressive and creepy is basically my lot in life now,” I say, peering at the map. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she says quickly. “It’s just—“ 

_I know, Felicity_. 

“She did it again!” She says, exasperated. “Are you guys used to that now? How could anyone be used to it?” 

No one answers, because I force myself into the forefront again. “You put Diggle as security. You get the Arrow in through the roof, through the roof access, right?” I continue. “Send the Flash and I in on the ground floor. We’ve dealt with these two before. We know how they work, but we do need that backup. Get the Arrow in on aerials, Diggle on the perimeter, us on the floor. We can scope out the situation and could easily pull out if nothing happens without anyone being the wiser.” 

“She’d be nice in Starling City,” Felicity says, spinning in her chair and peering at Oliver. “Convenient. A good planner.” 

“That’s just what you need, Barry—someone who thinks to case their environment,” Oliver says, pointedly glaring at Barry. 

“I’m sensing there’s a story here,” I mention. 

“She can get the job done. She’s a good ally,” Barry retorts. 

“She’s good at juggling, too,” Cisco adds. 

* * *

We head out to the Ferris Air abandoned airstrip for some “training exercises”, according to Oliver. 

Cait left for “personal reasons”: read, dealing with Ronnie’s possible return— and Dr. Wells has declared his presence was needed elsewhere, so it leaves the two metahumans, the two nerds and one Oliver Queen. 

As we unload, I listen to Oliver and Barry verbally sparring as Barry eyes the compound bow in the box. 

“Ah, a modified Oneida Eagle Kestrel, right?“ 

“Don’t even act like you know how to handle this kind of machinery.” 

Barry raises his eyebrow at Oliver. “C’mon. We’ve worked together how many times? You think I’m not going to research your weapon of choice? It’s a short model, gives better maneuverability. What’s the draw weight? 50 pounds?” 

“Closer to 60,“ Oliver corrects. Cisco quickly snaps a photo of the two of them going literally head to head, and I know Cait isn’t there to stop him. 

“You think you’d let me shoot it?” Barry says. I know he’s on lesson four of six already and he’s being called a good shot (according to him), so he’s just antagonizing Oliver at this point. 

“No.“ 

“C’mon, Ollie,” he says, articulating the nickname almost condescendingly. This is an interesting side of Barry—one that I could get used to. His sass is showing, and that boy’s throwing enough shade to make a Millennial cringe. 

“Firstly, no. Secondly, do you even know how to handle a bow? You’re just going to hurt yourself. The draw strength alone…” 

“Set up a target. If you don’t think he can do it, it would be hilarious for you and embarrassing for him,“ I say to Oliver. He considers it for a moment, then looks to Felicity, who shrugs and nods. 

Cisco, he knows about the lessons, and I glare it him for a minute because he starts to giggle. He immediately stops as Oliver goes and sets up his target before turning to Felicity. 

“Ten bucks says Barry hits the target.” 

“That is never going to happen. Do you see that bow? It’s got more gears than he can handle.“ 

“I’m confident,” Cisco says, looking back to me. I cross my arms and try to ignore him, except I can’t stop laughing. 

“You’re on,“ Felicity says, shaking Cisco’s hand. 

Oliver comes back to his bow and pulls it out of its box tenderly. “Do not, and I repeat do not, break this.” 

“Have a little faith, Oliver.“ Barry takes the bow with sheer reverence, looking over it and seemingly taking in each little detail. 

“Do you know how to hold it—”  
“Yes, I know how to hold it,“ Barry snaps back. I lean against the van, taking in the scene. Even with what he told me the other day, I can’t let it bother me. There’s something about us—about all of us—that transcends something as simple as that situation. We breathe in complication and exhale simplicity. 

At our best, at least. 

Oliver has handed Barry an arrow. God, let him do this right. I can already feel his excited anxiety, his yearning to do this right. He wants to show off—it’s like he’s got a little brother complex and just wants to make Oliver proud. 

He draws the bow, a bit shaky at first, but he does it correctly. He takes a second longer to aim than I expect Oliver to, and when he lets go, the arrow hits below the bullseye area, in the 7 or 8 point circles. 

Cisco lets out his coined expression of “ohh!” while standing up and pointing from the target to Felicity. 

“Pay up, Smoak!“ 

“Alright, alright, I stand corrected,” Oliver says, taking the bow back from Barry as quickly as he could. Barry looks sad but quickly gets over it. “How’d you do it?”  
“Christmas gift,“ Barry explains. “Lessons at the local range.” 

“And why did you feel the need to learn how to shoot?“  
“I was hoping it could give me better ’strategy and tactical awareness’,” Barry says, throwing his fingers into air quotes. 

“Oh, you’re going to pull that, now? Allen, you are so cocky.“ 

“I’ve learned from the best, actually.” 

“You realize I haven’t just beat you once, but twice?“ 

They start circling each other, and I wish I could make popcorn right about now. I’m pretty sure Cisco feels like it’s Christmas all over again. 

“I thought we agreed that was a draw.” 

“It was definitely not a draw,“ Oliver says, laughing pointedly. 

“You shot me! You pinned me to the drywall!” 

“Exactly. You wouldn’t stop moving,“ Oliver retorts like it’s the easiest decision to make in the world. 

“At least you shot me straight on that time,” Barry says, “Instead of shooting me in the back!”  
“Are you still holding onto that?“  
“So sue me for holding a grudge.” 

I remove myself from my post and push in between the two of them gently. “As much as I would literally give my left kidney to watch you two go at it for a few hours, aren’t we here for a reason? Like, strategy and tactical awareness?” 

“Fifteen minutes. Just let me at him,“ Barry says. 

“You think you could take me down in fifteen minutes?” Oliver retorts. 

“Oh my God, boys, stop. Barry, I will fuck you up six ways to Sunday, don’t you dare. We have a job to do, remember?“ 

And for an entire afternoon, I have to listen to those two bantering back and forth while we decide on a viable tactic for fighting Hyde and Nemesis. 

It’s strangely comforting. 


	19. Truths Arise

**Friday, January 16, 2015 / 3:07 p.m. **

I finally sift through the pile of files on my desk and manage to find an end to it all. Not permanently, of course—but it’s enough to get me through. 

Especially since I’ve basically been shirking everything to do with my job lately. 

Ever since that damned Barry Allen. 

I just smile. 

My phone rings— 

“Hey, Detective West,” I say, slipping the handheld onto my shoulder. 

“How’d you—“ He begins, but seems to stop trying. “You think you could come down here? We’ve got one of those mugging victims back in. Thinkin’ she can give more information, but Eddie and I don’t know about her. Wanna give her a shot?” 

I gather up a few of my files and head downstairs, nearly sliding down the banister. Singh gives me a dirty look before saying goodbye to his husband, and I do my best to give him a smile. 

He doesn’t scare me anymore. Not over the past year. He’s like a stale Twinkie—hard on the outside, soft and creamy on the inside. 

I start towards the bullpen and I’m roughly pulled aside— 

“What the—Barry?” 

He drags me into the corner near the stairs, enough for me to suddenly be afraid. But I look inside and I know why. The woman claiming to have more information? 

Jordan Hart. 

She hasn’t seen me yet, and Barry uses his body to block the window. 

“She took hold of Joe,” he begins, lowering his voice. “Did he call you down here?” 

“Yeah, that’s why—“ 

“It was her,” he explains, trying to keep his voice level. Before he realizes it, I touch his arm and I suddenly taste Chipotle Cilantro lime rice—it’s salty, it’s spicy; it’s agitation, anxiety and a little bit of pain. “I don’t know how to block her, but I need to get Joe out of there before something happens.” 

I wrack my mind, trying to figure out what to do. If I went in there with Barry, she would know that we would know, mind reader or not. If either of us went in there unshielded, she would know our plan and she would know Barry’s identity. If we sent anyone at all in there, unshielded, she’ll know we’re avoiding her. 

I try not to panic. 

“It’s a Catch-22,” he breathes. “And she knows it.” 

“I could try to override her in Detective West, but I can’t overload his brain,” I say. But there’s one more thing. There’s one more thing I could try— 

“You’ve got that look on your face.” 

“You remember the other day,” I begin, and his determined, set jaw shifts to let him smirk. 

“Of course.” 

“That’s another discussion—“ 

“It was nice,” he immediately says. 

“Oh. Good. I mean, that’s good. Good—“ 

“You think that’s good, then?” He says, smiling wide. “I’m not too sure what you think it is.” 

“Focus! You’re distracting me. Strategize. C’mon. You can do this with me. The other day. When I… look, most of my powers are by touch. I essentially threw up a shield in your mind through touch. What if I could try to do it without touching you?” 

“What, like putting up a barrier so I could get into the bullpen without her—“ 

“Knowing our plan and finding out who you are.” 

He’s concerned, and I don’t blame him. 

“I think I can do it.” 

“You think, or you can?” He asks. 

“I—I don’t know,” I say, the additional feeling of panic I took from him truly setting in. “I don’t know if I can do it—“ 

“Okay, okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he starts, and he leads me to the edge of the stairs. I’m out of sight just enough, but I could still see Barry if he enters the bullpen. “You’re going to try. And you’re going to do it. You can do this.” 

“I can do this,” I repeat to myself. “Are you ready?” 

I don’t even wait for his verbal response, because it’s already mental. With his hands on my arms, I slip slowly into his mind, feeling that break between the two of us. It’s becoming less apparent, I realize; slipping into his mind is becoming simpler and simpler. 

I take a deep breath, and I feel like I’m spinning. 

But like I would if I were in the battlefield, I throw up a shield. 

Barry cringes, then recovers— 

_I’m fine, don’t apologize. It just stung a little._

I can’t quite respond. I’m trying to hold the shield tightly in his mind, holding, not expanding, not contracting. Just holding. 

His fingers slip away from my hands. 

He does so slowly; peering over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed the weird shit going on in the corner of the CCPD main floor. I don’t think it’s any weirder than normal, but I just hold on to the shield in his mind. 

Just holding. 

I feel it flicker, threaten to die out like a candle flame, and I see him take one, two steps away. 

I try to regulate my breathing. 

_It’s working,_ he says. 

With a few more tentative steps, he moves towards the bullpen. 

I slip down onto the bottom step, finding comfort in sitting. 

With each step he moves away from me, the more pressure I feel against my temples, until all I feel is throbbing. I touch my palms to my head. 

Like echoes, I hear Joe’s voice. “I’m waiting for Dr. Price. I’m not going to leave until she gets here—“ 

“Joe, listen to me. It’s urgent. Up in the lab. You have to see this evidence.” 

“I need to see Dr. Pr—“ 

“She can wait. It has to be now.” 

It’s not pleasant for him either, it’s giving him a headache, and he nearly hauls Detective West out of the bullpen, feet clacking against the marble floor, ushering him up to the stairs. 

With Barry’s hand on my shoulder, the heaviness disappears, and my head feels like it’s floating. 

“It worked. It worked, didn’t it?” He whispers, dragging me to my feet and pushing us both up to the next floor. At the top of the stairs, Joe blinks like he’s waking up. 

“What the hell happened?” He says as Barry plugs in the code for the forensics lab. He slams shut the door after we all get in. I collapse in the nearby chair. My head is pounding so hard, I can barely hear Barry explain what happened to Joe. 

“That girl down there, she’s a metahuman too.” 

“What’s her power—“ 

“Develop any power to beat her enemy. Uh, Nemesis is her code name.” 

“Why the hell did she develop mind control? I’m not a metahuman—“ 

“Because of me,” I answer. The floor has stopped spinning now, and Barry hands me a water bottle. I drink long from it, crinkling the bottle. “I’m her chosen enemy, and she uses that power against you.” 

“What did she want—“ 

“Get Essie off guard. Read her mind, figure out our plans. Figure out my real identity,” Barry speculates. “Doesn’t matter what she wanted. It matters what she got.” 

“Do you think she saw your identity in my mind?” Joe immediately realizes. 

“I don’t think so,” Barry says. “She would have done something if she had. Or she’s waiting for that information to become relevant. Regardless, we have to be careful. We only have a few days left.” 

“What did you even do?” He asks, looking at me. I must be worse for the wear, because him and Barry just exchange glances. 

“I—uh, threw up a shield. In his mind. I can do it outside of the mind, but that’s the first time I’ve done it like that. Oh, and we weren’t touching. So. This is the result.” 

I wipe the sweat from my face. My hands shake, but I try to hide it. I feel like I’m shattering from the inside, but I breathe through it. I finish my water bottle. 

“Why don’t you head home for the day, Dr. Price?” West says, nodding towards me. “If you sneak out now, I can cover for you.” 

I hold my head in my hand. “I’m already so far behind,” I say. “I have to write out my case files that I haven’t done in a month, I have to file them… I have to type out my reports and send them to Singh, I mean—“ 

“Is it all laid out in your office?” Barry asks, almost conspiratorially. He grins a little. 

“Yeah, the files and reports are stacked on my desk, and th—“ 

He disappears without another word. 

West just sighs and looks over to me. “Has he asked you about Oliver Queen’s plans yet?” 

I crumple the water bottle and toss it into the recycling bin. “Not yet, but from what I understand he has some sort of plan for tonight?” 

I don’t know where that comes from, but I let it slide, since I’ve been spending a lot of time in Barry’s mind lately. 

“Barry and him spoke about taking you and Felicity out. I don’t know who’s plan it was exactly, but there was something about you needing to relax.” 

“Me? Relax?” I harrumph. “Yeah, good luck with that—“ 

“Hey. Price. Essie—I know you can read minds and everything, but you realize he really likes you? This is the first time since… He wants to do something nice for you.” 

I smile, I look down at the floor, at my black flats. “I try not to pry.” 

“You don’t have to be a metahuman to see it.” 

“It’s hard knowing the difference sometimes.” 

Barry reappears into the room, looking particularly proud of himself. “There. You’re done. Go home early.” 

“Barry, I—“ 

“Oh, listen. If you’re free, Oliver wants us—the four of us—to go out tonight. Together.” 

“Are you suggesting a double date?” I ask, trying not to look at West. 

“Yeah, well, uh, kind of. Maybe.” 

“That’s what real, established couples do.” 

He gives me a goofy grin, but doesn’t say anything further. 

“What do I wear?” 

* * *

I see the swirling black hole. It’s above the skyline of Central City, threatening to eat up the entire world. 

I’m running and can’t find anyone. I can’t even find Barry, I can’t— 

I’m in a white room. 

Jensson stands in front of me. He flickers between forms: human, his otherworldly human face with melting skin, and his green, misshapen body as Hyde. 

I try to run from him, but I can’t get away either. 

My arms are numb, and I can’t breathe. I can’t gasp for enough air— 

I wake up, rolling off the couch, as I hear the buzzer to be let into the building. 

Through the intercom: “Es. Es, wake up. It’s Barry. Come to the door.” He sighs. “I know you’re sleeping. Wake up—“ 

I struggle, I push through the nightmare and make it to the intercom. 

“Okay, okay, sorry, I was trying to get some sleep,” I mutter, pressing the button, but as I unlock my door, Barry’s already there. 

His grin falls a bit when he sees me. “What happened? You’re white.” 

“And that’s different from when?” I retort, putting some food into Chekhov’s bowl. He comes running and first rubs against my legs before going to the bowl. 

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?” He asks. I look him over first—those tight jeans, a pair of brown boots, a blue t-shirt under a blue and grey plaid shirt. It brings out the hazel in his eyes. It’s not fair, really. He’s not fair. At least I know I can dress casually. I just want to— 

He pushes my chin up and kisses me lightly. “Stop projecting,” he says, like an adult chiding a kid. “You had a nightmare?” 

“Um, yeah. Yes. I did,” I confess, folding my afghan and throwing it over my couch. I grab the empty bottle of vodka and toss it into the recycling bin before I start towards the stairs and he follows behind. “Just—Hyde. And Jensson. I keep seeing what he showed me when I almost died.” 

“Do you think it’s significant?” 

“No. I mean, probably not. I don’t see why it would be. He’s trying to scare me, that’s all.” I open the door to my closet and start rifling through my shirts. “What should I wear?” I say, trying to change the subject. 

“Don’t try to change the subject. I don’t want you to be worried all night.” 

“I’m not going to be worried all night,” I say, throwing a pair of skinny jeans on the bed. I push my tall black boots out of my closet with my feet, and toss one of my black cardigans through the air, which Barry neatly catches and places on top of my jeans. 

“You wear a lot of black,” he comments as I pull out a dark green t-shirt. In retaliation, I pull off my Central City University 2011 Choir shirt, find my bra that had found its way into a pile on my floor, then put it on. 

Barry’s thoughts were less than coherent. 

“You were saying?” I ask, pulling off my pj shorts and standing in my underwear as I try to find a pair of socks. I’m just being as rude as possible at this point. 

I find my favorite pair of Hawkeye socks and slip them on first, then get into my skinny jeans with as little difficulty as possible. 

“We’re meeting Oliver and Felicity at the bowling alley,” he says, crossing his arms. “Felicity actually chose it. Which is surprising, since she has no coordination whatsoever.” 

“Are they a thing?” I ask, throwing my hair up into a bun and trying to put on some sort of makeup to look presentable. “I mean, if they’re not, they totally should be.” 

I see him shrug noncommittally in the mirror. “I don’t know. Remember—nine month coma.” 

“Point being, they’re adorable together,” I say, grabbing my bag and my coat. “You ready? I need to smoke some Queen ass.” 

“Are you any good at bowling?” He asks with a bit of disbelief. 

“Depends on how drunk I am.” 

* * *

On our first game, I score a 37. I didn’t even make it to triple digits. This is the story of how I die. 

Even Felicity got a 79, but the bitch got assistance from Oliver when I wasn’t looking. 

Second game? This means war. 

I have to have a strategy. I have to figure out a way to either fuck this guy up or make myself better. 

Barry laughs over his beer bottle, his grin making me melt a little. 

“We should probably, like… discuss our battle plan. At some point. Maybe,” Felicity says, taking a long drink from her brandy. She truly wanted tsuica, she explained, but the bar didn’t have it. She settled for normal brandy. 

“I thought we had a battle plan,” Oliver says, sitting back down on the brightly colored couch next to Felicity. “We’re going to get the floor plans, which you can get in less than five minutes at a computer. Once Diggle gets here, we can delve deeper, right, Barry?” 

He wordlessly nods, and I feel like there’s a missing lesson in there. 

Barry side-glances at me. _Always know your surroundings. He taught me that by shooting me in the back. Twice._

I cringe as he get up to bowl his turn. I can help but stare at his ass for a minute. 

Before he goes, he turns around once more to give me a pointed glare. 

“Are you doing that thing? That thing when you’re in his mind and you’re talking about us,” Felicity says as she finishes her drink. “Oh, sorry. No filter. I mean, it’s strange though, isn’t it?” 

“You get used to it after a while,” Barry says, returning after his spare. I’m jealous. I can’t get a spare to save my life. 

“I try not to pry into people’s minds, but sometimes, if I do it a lot, it’s like opening up a doorway between two minds,” I explain. “It’s like leaving a walkie talkie line open. If he thinks it, I can sometimes hear it if I don’t actively shut it down.” 

“How do you control it?” Oliver says. I hold up a finger to tell him to hold that thought as I find my bowling ball to take my turn. 

When I throw, it almost seems like it’s going to hit the pins—until it twists left at the last moment. It hits two pins on the end. 

“You’re curving your wrist too much,” Barry calls. 

“Don’t you think I would fix it if I could, hmm?” I say, taking my bowling ball once more. I try to adjust. I shift right a bit more, I don’t throw it exactly down the middle, and it takes out four more pins this time before going into the gutter. 

I just groan, making way for Felicity to take her turn, slightly drunkenly. 

“It’s hard to control it sometimes,” I say. “I’m hyper aware of everything. For the first couple months, I couldn’t sleep because I would hear voices. I thought I was the only one for the longest time. I just… I learned to suppress it at first, to try to ignore it, until I realized it could be helpful. I started using it at work to catch criminals and that worked for me. But the first couple months…” 

“What happened?” Oliver says, leaning his elbows on his knees and dropping his voice lower. 

“I, uh. Well, since I couldn’t sleep, and kept hearing voices, I thought I was schizophrenic at first. I didn’t know how to fix it. I tried…” My voice cracks. “I tried medication, but nothing worked. I started mediating. It… kind of worked. That’s the start of it, really. Once I got control of that, I had to figure out how to deal with my empathic powers. That was a whole other ballgame. I thought I was going to start having to wear gloves like Rogue in X-Men. That’s what I started doing, actually. For a while. I… I really started to push everyone away. I didn’t want them to get hurt.” 

I realize I’ve said too much, because the other three are looking at me with various facial expressions: Oliver with compassion, albeit a little rough; Felicity with poignancy and Barry with confusion and surprise. 

“Alright then,” I say, standing up. “Anyone want more to drink? I’m going to get more to drink.” 

I don’t even wait, knowing Oliver wants whiskey, Barry wants another beer (although it’s useless) and Felicity just wants something with an umbrella in it. 

I head up to the bar and order the drinks, along with my Stoli. For good measure, I order a 252. The bartender gives me a wary look and thinks I may need a chaser until I tell him straight. 

I down the shot before he can turn around to mix the drinks. He fills me another. 

“Make it two.” Oliver slides up onto the barstool next to me. 

“You sure you want to do that?” I ask, watching him watch the bartender pour the shot. He just glares at me wordlessly, picking up the shot and waiting for me to clink mine against his. 

The bartender doesn’t waver this time, filling up the glasses. 

“I’ve had my share of rough years,” he says. “Can’t say they get better.” 

I harrumph over the third shot. 

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I say rougher than I intend at Oliver. 

He doesn’t wait. Instead, he jumps right in. 

“Listen, I’ve got a friend who—while she doesn’t have the same issue as you—has been through a lot and has turned to alcohol to fix it.” 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” I say, suddenly unable to take my fourth shot. 

He turns around and leans on the bar. “It quiets everything, doesn’t it?” He says. “You don’t hear as much when you’re drinking.” 

“It helps me sleep at night,” I say, less convinced of my own beliefs. “Especially now with this Hyde person in my brain.” 

“Causing dreams?” 

“Nightmares,” I correct. 

“Sometimes all you need to do is talk. I’ve got Diggle. I’ve got…” He drifts, looking over to Barry and Felicity, who are in some sort of highly in-depth conversation. “Who’ve you got?” 

“More than I started with,” I say. “Once we get this guy, it’ll be better. Everything will be better.” 

“What makes you so sure?” He says, taking his own drink and Felicity’s, which is variegated yellow to pink with a blue paper umbrella. “Kogotók uvyáz – vsey ptíchke propást'.” There he goes with those proverbs again—if the claw is stuck, the bird is lost. 

Trouble starts with little mistakes. 

He starts to get to his feet, so I take my shot. He raises his eyebrow at me, so I take his shot too. 

“Rybák rybaká vídit izdaleká.” Birds of a feather flock together. Or it takes one to know one—he doesn’t respond and instead takes the drinks back to the table. 

I can feel the shots seep deep into my bloodstream and they’re just enough. Just for now. I drop off the drinks and find my bowling ball. 

“I am going to succeed,” I declare, I realize, to no one. 

Barry gets up from his comfortable position and comes down to me. 

“C’mon. We’re going to get you a strike.” 

“I’m torn between letting you be adorable and help me and running from the patriarchy.” 

“Oh, my God, Es, just let me help—“ 

I look over his shoulder to Felicity and Oliver. “What is the will of the people?!” 

They exchange quick glances, and Felicity shrugs. “I don’t see any cons to this. You get a strike, and he physically helps you in public.” 

“It’s a win-win,” Oliver concedes. 

“Help me touch my ball, then,” I say to Barry. Oliver nearly chokes on his drink, and Felicity actually does, coughing a bit. 

Barry glares at me, trying not to laugh, and he considers turning back and allowing me to do it myself. I just grin up at him, and he looks off into another direction like he’s in an episode of the Office. 

He grabs my free hand instead and pulls me up to the lane. “Okay, so first off, you’re twisting your hand when you let go of the ball, so it twists too, sending it into the gutter. You’ve got to keep it as straight as possible if you’re going straight down the middle.” He stands behind me, and I enjoy it all too much. With his left hand resting lightly on my hip, he guides my hand up, holding onto my wrist. “You’re holding on too tightly. Loosen up your grip.” 

“It’s a bowling ball. It’s like, ten pounds of polyurethane.” 

“It’s not my fault you grabbed a ten pound ball.” 

“I can’t help that I like big balls,” I say over his shoulder. Felicity has to grab napkins this time. 

“Focus,” he says under his breath with a chuckle. “You’re the worst, you know that?” 

“My arm’s getting tired,” I whine. 

He holds onto my wrist. “So as you pull back try to keep your arm straight while you keep your wrist straight.” He winds me back, holding on, before letting me take the reins while he lightly holds on as a guide. 

When I let go, it goes relatively straight. It angles a bit more at the end, but manages to tip 8… 9… 

“C’mon, you sorry bitch,” I whisper. 

And ten. 

I turn around, I bow to Felicity and Oliver. She gives me a golf clap while he just nods respectfully. 

“You are welcome,” Barry says pointedly. I lean up to him, I drag him down to my level, I kiss him. 

“No, sir, you are welcome,” I say with a grin. A girl could get used to this. I could get used to this. 

I have a shuddering feeling I won’t, and it all leads back to the ten of wands. 


	20. Struck

Saturday, Jan. 17, 2015 

7:09 p.m. 

I sit back and let Cait do my hair. I shut my eyes; the feeling is soothing. It’s a wonder she’s agreed to do it; it’s so curly, so frizzy that by this point it’s better to just put it up and away and get it off my back. But something made her enthused, and I’ll take it. I need her on my side tonight. 

But as she does, I think about this morning. I think about waking up. I think about being naked, under the covers, Barry’s arm slung over me, nuzzling into my neck. I think about the kisses he left on my shoulders, and the lingering touch of his fingers on my side. I think about the half awake lovemaking, the barely coherent sex we decided was inevitable after last night. 

But I have to focus. I have to focus on what we have to do tonight. 

“You and Barry… I think it’s a good thing,” Cait whispers. “You’re cute together.” 

“Oh, we’re not—“ I start, but then I rethink it, and she just gives me a knowing smile. 

She changes tactics quickly. “I know you disagree with me about Jensson but I really think if you’re given the chance to heal him, you should. You never know what good could come out of it.” 

“It’s priority number two. I don’t disagree with you,” I say. I hand her a bobby pin before she asks for it. “I just think safety is the first priority.” 

She nods slightly, understanding my point. 

“Are you okay?” I ask. I know how hard it has been for her lately—the business with Ronnie has gotten her down, and I know she’s exhausted. Emotionally, physically. 

She can’t hide it from me, so she just sighs. I take her hand, just for a moment, and when she looks to me I know she’s giving me permission. 

I take her sadness. I take her disgust, her fear, and I bury it. I have to bury it deep, deep where no one can find it. 

Cait takes a gasping breath, and while there are tears in her eyes, she gives me a smile that’s a little wider than before. 

“You really have a gift, Es.” 

“I’m just trying to use what I’ve been given.”  
She goes back to doing my hair, grabbing for another pair of bobby pins. 

“So, I don’t know if I had to plan this, but I have no idea what I’m wearing,“ I say. 

Cisco takes this as his cue: he runs into another room and when he returns, he’s pushing a mannequin. He unveils a black suit that shines in the light like part of it is made of silver. 

“Wait, what?! You—you made me a suit?!” 

“It’s similar to Barry’s suit,” he begins. “The material is very similar, but it’s more like reinforced rubber. If you try to shoot a bolt, you should theoretically be able to withstand higher voltages because this can help insulate you from the blast. It’s also conversely lined with electromagnetic shielding which nearly makes it a walking Faraday Cage.” 

“I know what a Faraday Cage is, but—“ 

“It’s a legitimate form of a tin foil hat,” Cait explains, her voice muffled because of the bobby pins in her mouth. 

“It should be able to either block completely or facilitate in blocking foreign thought patterns!” Cisco exclaims. “Show her our favorite part.“ 

She sets down the bobby pins. “Here’s what you do for the gala.” She unzips the invisible zipper at the front of the suit, revealing decorative silver underlay. As she does, she flips the collar down on to part of the sleeves and attaches it, making it look more like the top of a formal dress—with long, off the shoulder sleeves. 

“Get her the gloves and the skirt,” Cait says, getting back to work. He comes back out with what appears to be a massive, shining taffeta skirt, made of black but the material has threads of silver in it, making it shimmer. 

“This is just for show,“ Cisco says, “And it’s detachable if you’ve got to ditch it.” 

“You guys… you’re the best. For real. So, does this officially make me a member of the team?” I ask, grinning widely. 

“I’d like to think you’re here to stay,” Cisco adds. “Omni.” 

I’m glad for Cait’s shift to my makeup, because my grin falls. I feel an ominous feeling suddenly, and it’s something I just can’t shake. 

I’m cut off by another voice, a new voice, one that has only just arrived in Central City, one that’s already fighting casually with Felicity— 

“I know how to tie it.” 

“You obviously don’t. If you just lean down I can fix it—“ 

“You’re micromanaging again, Felicity.” 

“Fine then. Blow your cover because your bowtie isn’t done right.” 

A groan, a sigh. “Felicity. Come back.” Clacking of heels. 

“No, you insulted my bow tying abilities!” 

She slips into another room and I open my eyes to see a stalwart man in a full tux adjusting his bowtie using the glass in the lab. He’s got that look about him that makes him seem like he’s comfortable in the tuxedo but would look just as good in a military uniform. 

“You must be John Diggle,” I say, and he looks over his shoulder at me. 

“You must be the telepath,” he responds, and I see the hint of a smirk. 

“I have a name, you know. It’s Essie.” 

“It’s Omni for the sake of the comms,” Oliver says, butting in. I let out a low giggle. I can’t help it—he’s in full Arrow get up, minus the mask. He throws open one of the cases he and Felicity brought in and pulls out his large compound bow. 

Cait blocks my vision by putting some finishing touches on my makeup, then slipping my mask around my eyes. With the construction of the mask, it doesn’t compromise my peripheral vision. Cisco has removed the suit from the mannequin and I head off to the bathroom to get myself dressed. 

For the first time in a long time, I look myself over in the mirror. Cait curled my hair, and the rich reddish color looks brighter against the black and silver. She’s pulled over to one shoulder in a low ponytail, then wrapped my own hair around the hair tie to make it look prettier. The mask sits perfectly against my eyes; she’s darkened the rims around my eyes to make it blend in with the holes of the mask and offset my lips with a blood red. 

I hope this works. I need this all to work. 

I make it back out just as Diggle starts in. “Oliver debriefed me on the details of the mission,” Diggle says. “Let’s run down the specifics.” 

“Diggle, we need you to infiltrate security. You’re coming in with us—you’ll pose as our personal security, and as soon as we get you past the checkpoint and inside, I’ll get you into the ranks of the perimeter guard.” 

“How are you going to do that?” He asks cautiously. 

“I’ll trick a few of them into thinking you’re on their squad,” I say, sounding a bit more condescending that I really should have. Cait drapes the black and silver skirt around my waist, fastening the circle skirt and adjusting the A-line so it lays right around my legs. 

“Once we’re in—you on security, me and Barry on the floor undercover, and Oliver, slipping past our security feeds to get an aerial view—we’ll just have to wait. Hopefully we can apprehend him with little to no interference.” I know my hope isn’t going to happen. 

This is going to end with blood, I know. 

Woah. That got morbid quick. 

I turn back to the rest of the crew. Barry has donned his own tuxedo. Dear Lord, Barry is in a tuxedo. I almost have to grab for the table for support. 

But then I realize his face changes too, and I realize he’s looking at me. 

“Wow. I mean—wow. Essie. You look—“ 

“Like you’re about to kick some ass,” Cisco interrupts, reaching out to give Cait a high five. 

“Not exactly what I was thinking, but good enough,” Barry mutters. 

“Everyone know their missions?” I say, trying to regain a sense of self although I want to tear that tuxedo off of him. 

“Code names. Omni. Freelancer,” I point to Diggle. He doesn’t even look surprised I know his A.R.G.U.S. code name, and I figure using what he’s already used to makes it easier. “Arrow. Flash. Echo base.” 

“You realize we don’t really need—“ Felicity begins. 

“We do need them. Both of these metahumans have the ability to read minds. The moment you use the wrong name is the moment one of us could die. The stakes are high, people, so if we’re rolling the dice, let’s make sure we’ve got Lady Luck on our side.” 

We don’t. I know we don’t. 

* * *

I link my arm in Barry’s, thankful for the warmth emanating from his body. It’s getting late, and it’s relatively cold outside, and I didn’t think to wear a coat. I didn’t think it was necessary at this point. 

Besides, it’s just going to get in the way. 

“You look really nice,” Barry finally says on the stairway up into the Enfield-Harris Grand Hotel. It really is that: grand. Gilded, over the top, Victorian architecture. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I say, grinning in his direction. His mask is similar to mine, but instead of silver swirls on black, they’re red. Not subtle, Cisco, but still looking good. 

I see Diggle over my shoulder, and he gives me a slight nod. 

Everyone’s a suspect, and everyone has a mask on. A good and a bad thing. 

We’re to the front of the line. I’m glad, too, because honestly I don’t have the emotional range to deal with much more anxiety at the moment. 

“Invitation, please,” the bored guard says. I pull a blank sheet of card stock, the same size as the invitations, and hand it to him. 

Please let this work. 

I push past the wall of his mind, trying to keep a straight face, and after theoretically picking the lock I get inside. He looks down at the paper, his eyes moving like he’s reading it, and like that, we’re in. He doesn’t even use his metal detecting wand on us. 

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Simon Stride, Dr. Emma Carew. Enjoy your evening.” 

I hear a snort in my ear piece. I think it’s from Caitlin. 

“Is that a musical theatre fan I hear?” I whisper, beginning to case the place once we get inside. 

_“Did you basically use psychic paper on him?”_ Cisco asks. 

“State your name, rank and intention,“ I mutter. “Doctor, doctor, fun.” 

”_The comm is meant for emergency communications, not Doctor Who quotes,“_ Oliver says. 

“You’ve seen Doctor Who?” I gasp. 

”_Only the good ones_,“ Felicity says before leaving the comm open. 

The event is set up in the lobby: with its parquet floor, its ubiquitous string dectet echoing off the walls, its sweeping staircases, the ceiling several floors up—I’m suddenly aware of our exposure. 

I nod to Diggle, and he slips in between several of the security men around the perimeter of the room. It literally takes barely a thought to send one of the men to another entrance, allowing Diggle to slide into his spot undetected. 

For men hired to guard an area, they are not guarding their mind. 

Regardless, I can’t stop looking around. I can’t find her. I can’t find Hart. 

“Stop worrying. It’s going to be fine,” Barry whispers. I’ve clenched tightly to his arm. He instead takes my gloved hand in his. 

_“I’m in position,” _a gruff voice says over the comm. In an attempt to look like I’m admiring the architecture of the building, I look up, up past the pretty staircases, into the alcove near the ceiling. In the shadows, I see a flicker of movement and I know the Arrow is surveying the situation underneath. 

Like a soundtrack to my life, the string dectet plays an unsettling piece of music. I focus on the chord progression and suddenly I know that arrangement. 

“How the hell is that ensemble playing a version of Stravinsky’s Firebird?” I utter. It’s mesmerizing and I can’t help but feel anxious. 

“It’s just music,” Barry whispers. 

“It’s never just music,” I snap. “How many times are you warned in a horror film when something’s going to happen through the score? How creepy was _The Birds_ because it had no music?” 

_“She’s not wrong.”_

“Thank you, Red leader,” I whisper back to Cisco. 

_ “No visual yet.”_

The music starts to decrescendo into part of the piece that I know. It’s the finale. 

“We should dance,” I say, eyeing the floor. Several couples are making their way there; it’s not danceable at the moment but there are a few who recognize what’s coming. 

“Ohh, I can’t dance,” Barry begins. 

“Yes, you have to dance. You’re Simon Stride. You’ve got to dance.” 

He lets out a low groan. I take his hand and lead him to the parquet floor, joining half a dozen other couples. 

The violin, arranged from the flute part, starts building the tempo and while I don’t know how we’re going to dance to Stravinsky we’re going to damn well try. 

Why is it Stravinsky? Why is someone playing Stravinsky? Who made this decision— 

We shift silently along on the dance floor. Other couples speak, and I try to hear their conversations but my mind is too loud. I hear too many conversations at once, and it’s making my head pound. 

Why are they playing Stravinsky— 

The dectet explodes into the fast-paced section of the finale. I whirl about and can’t help but let out a laugh—whatever we’re doing, it’s awful, but it’s exactly what I needed at this moment in time. 

For a moment, I’m just dancing with Barry, to Stravinsky, which is the worst thing to dance to ever, but we’re making it work. 

But the tempo slows down and I make eye contact with the one person who I’ve been looking for: 

Jordan Hart. 

She’s hidden her face behind a clear mask, an iridescent one that shows her skin through it, like she’s telling me how she can see through my powers and thwart them with a thought. Her dark green, mermaid styled dress is the same color as what Hyde made me see in my hallucinations. 

The music was a distraction, I realize. 

A distraction from what was really happening— 

For the first time, I see Jensson as the scientist: blond, pale. With striking blue eyes. He’s almost… frail. Sickly. 

He approaches the podium upon the completion of the Firebird finale. The room quiets without him having to do a single thing. 

“Welcome, friends, colleagues. I am here to present my long awaited conclusion to my discoveries of the connections of personality and the brain. This might seem like pseudoscience to many, as it were; what does neuroscience and personality have in common?” 

He scans the crowd like he’s waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. When his eyes meet mine, they lock on, I feel them pushing inside of me—I grasp onto him. 

I see stars. The world flickers green and black. It flickers pain, it flickers terror. 

The parquet floor is covered in bodies. In blood. I stand in the middle, blood trickling down from my own fingertips. I watch them drip, I watch it fall into little puddles onto the parquet— 

_ “Essie, your vitals—_“ 

“This is all a trap,” I whisper. “This is what he wanted. He wanted us all to be here. He wanted me to be here. He knew we would stop him and he knew I would be here and this is how he’s going to get me—“ 

“A masquerade gives attendees the chance to hide their face,” he continues. “A place where you can be someone else, or show your true colors. I’m sure you’ve all been focused on the news lately. Masked men speeding around the city, rescuing those in distress. Muggings by creatures, so ugly they can’t be described,” he says, drifting off. “These people, they’re not quite human. You may even consider them beyond human.” 

I can feel his brain pushing against mine. I push harder, I have to. He’s going to get inside if I don’t. He’s going to get so far inside I can’t let go. 

I throw up a shield. I throw it up hard and it nearly sends me reeling if it weren’t for the Flash’s grasp, cautiously thrown about my waist, holding me up. 

“What do you mean, this is a trap—“ He begins, but he’s cut off. He’s cut off again by Jensson and the gasp that rolls through the audience. 

“About a year and a half ago, I stopped practicing medicine because I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. This issue, my friends, is not psychological. That—that field—is a pseudoscience. If it’s in the mind, it’s in the brain. It is treatable. By finding the part of the brain that denotes personality—that denotes identity, and creates multiple identities—splitting it apart and physically burying the non-dominating personalities, we can effectively cure this neurological disease.” 

The guests are deathly quiet. I hear a draw of breath from the elderly lady nearby. She looks disgusted. Several look afraid. 

We have to stop this. 

He’s going to do something drastic, something to hurt these people— 

“To do this, I’m going to need a volunteer,” he says. His voice—it’s changing. Barry steps backward, creating a semicircle around the two of us. 

The parquet floor is full of anxiety. I can taste it. I can taste it all in my mouth, the inexplicable taste of panic and sea salt and blood, my blood— 

He reaches out his hand and he points to me, his head tilting and his eyes widening. “You. You came in with the name Emma Carew. That’s not your name, is it?” 

I don’t know what thought I dispel across our mental connections, but before Jensson even finishes his statement, I feel the Arrow draw his bow, Freelancer pull his sidearm, the Flash leave and come back in a breath, now in his suit, and during that time I pull up the shoulders of my suit and ditch my skirt, unraveling it and tossing it behind me. 

There’s a shriek from the elderly woman beside us. 

“You’re going by the name Omni, now, but you’re really—“ 

An arrow slams into his back and cuts him off before he can out me. Jordan is moving. I sense it, she ditches part of her skirt in a desperate attempt to join the fight— 

I take a deep breath. I knew I was going to have to do this, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. 

I hold out my hands, feeling the electricity inside them, and like they’re powering up, I feel connections grow— 

I have to take a deep breath, hold it in my chest, but like generators coming online I feel the shields come up in the Arrow’s, then Freelancer’s, then the Flash’s and finally my mind. 

We’re fully shielded. 

I feel for a moment like I’m floating, like everything sounds hollow, but with shriek I come screaming down to earth. 

Everything I hear is like I’m hearing it in stereo, the screams of people, the sounds of the Flash shifting around on the floor— 

Freelancer starts clearing the floor of civilians. The Flash zips away, going for Hart. She zips after him. The Arrow drops down from the ceiling, rolling onto the parquet. 

I’m poised to fight. 

Jensson rips the arrow from his shoulder. I don’t know if the wound heals, but it disappears. Jensson, standing in the middle of the makeshift stage, extends his arms like he’s going to take flight, but before our eyes he changes. 

He grows in height. The spikes seem to grow from within his skin, popping it open and caking him in spots of blood. He grows. He becomes Hyde. 

He’s always been Hyde, I realize. There was never a time when he was Jensson. 

He had been completely taken over by the person inside his mind. 

I bolster the shields. I bolster everything. Everything needs to be bigger, be stronger. 

_“Watch yourself, Omni—“_

I already know my heart’s racing. It’s been racing since this whole thing started. 

Stay vigilant, I know. 

I take stock: the Flash and Arrow have overwhelmed Hart. She stupidly transformed to fight Arrow, but she forgot about the fact the Flash was coming after her. She didn’t have time to morph into someone faster. 

Freelancer is still getting people out. 

Hyde advances on him, jumping down from the stage. 

I have to distract him. I have to— 

I whip up a mental bolt, its physical form morphing quickly, tightly in my hand. 

_Just like bowling—_

The Flash stops for just a moment, giving me a quick head nod. 

I toss the bolt low, trying not to curve my wrist. It hones in on Hyde and hits him low on his center of gravity. The force I threw behind it and the power of the attack brings him to his knees. 

Freelancer gets the last of the attendees out and slams shut the door, locking everyone else outside. He’s done well, too. We don’t need cops, we don’t need any more heroes. 

“Did you like my Stravinsky?” 

Hyde speaks. I step backward. He’s talking to me. His voice sounds like—like someone grated vocal cords against sandpaper. He’s as sharp as his spines. 

“You picked it because of me, didn’t you?” 

He tilts his head. “You’re quick.” 

“This was all for me. This was all to get me here, to fall into your trap and—and what the hell is your trap, exactly?” 

“What fun would it be if I told you?” He says. “Oh, wait. I gave you the chance to come speak to me, scientist to scientist, about it.” 

I feel the tendrils of his mind coming for me, black and blue and roiling. The suit doesn’t help. It doesn’t shield me from him. 

I throw a bolt at him. It doesn’t faze him. I throw another and another and another at him— 

He just keeps moving. He keeps coming at me— 

Freelancer shoots at Hyde. I duck, I take cover. I count 9 rounds that he shoots into Hyde. 

It doesn’t even slow him down. 

So I try another tactic—I throw another bolt at his knees. The weight of his asymmetrical body makes him stumble. 

I call out for the Flash, and he’s at my side. I can’t see through the blur, but he fights Hyde— 

I strengthen the shields once again. Jordan is trying to beat through them, I can feel it, and she’s nearly broken down the Arrow’s. 

She switched—switched to mental tactics. They’re both planning on coming after me, but Arrow’s slowed her down. 

She’s bleeding, she’s broken, but her shoddy hand combat skills combined with her mind tampering have made her a formidable foe for him— 

A plan. A plan. I’ve got to have a plan to take this man down. We had a plan, but that all went to hell. And now we’re on the contingency plan, but it’s not helping at all. 

This thing. He’s not a man anymore. 

“_There’s only one way to stop him, and you know what that is.”_ Dr. Wells. He’s on the intercom. I didn’t think he was coming. But now he’s telling me exactly what I was afraid of. “_You’re going to have to heal him. It’s the only way.”_

“There has to be another way!” I call out. “To subdue him, or something—“ 

“_Regardless, you’re going to have to jump into his mind. You must.”_

I’m in the middle of the parquet floor. Freelancer gets hit by a rogue bolt, sent from someone. Arrow fights Jordan. She’s officially morphed back into something to fight him; they’re stuck in stasis, waiting for the other to tire out in the quick paced routine they’ve fallen into. 

The Flash slides across the floor, sent flying from Hyde. 

There’s nothing left for me to do. 

It was a trap to get me into his mind, and that’s exactly the only thing I can do. 

“It’s a Catch-22,” I whisper to myself. And Hyde knows it. 

I start at a dead run towards Hyde. The Flash knows. He knows what I’m about to do and he knows he can’t stop it. 

_Es—_he stops himself—_please don’t do this._

_I have to. Barry, you know I have to._

He goes to stand up, I know he’s going to try to stop me from colliding with Hyde. 

I lock him in place. I bind him in position. 

“Essie, don’t—” 

I collide with the monster. I push him bodily down onto the ground. I didn’t know I had the strength to. I don’t know what good it’s going to do, but I push against him, mentally, physically. I grab onto his arm. 

It’s salt, it’s blood, it’s iron, it’s everything. It’s something else. It’s copper, it’s cough syrup. It’s the acid from my stomach. 

It’s disdain. It’s disappointment. 

It’s overwhelmingly the feeling of being powerless in your own body. 

I can relate. I know how he feels— 

I push inside. I do it, and I know I’ve left them defenseless outside, but they can handle Jordan Hart. There are three of them and one of her. They can handle her. 

Screaming. I don’t know who is screaming. I think it might be me. I don’t know. I don’t know. 

I push. It’s like I’m pushing through cement caked in sandpaper. There’s screaming, so much screaming, and roughness and I can’t breathe until— 

I open my eyes. I’m standing in a barren desert. The sand beneath my feet is cracked. Deep cracks, fissures leading to nowhere. The land is straight; there are no hills or valleys. I can see all the way to the horizon. This earth doesn’t curve. If I walk all the way into the horizon, I just might fall off the earth, I think. 

The sky shines blood red. I see a figure, hunched, off in the distance, and I start running to him. 

He flickers. He appears much further away, then suddenly he’s right in front of me. 

It’s Erik Jensson. He curls up on the hard ground, holding onto his knees. All he wears is a pair of khaki pants, ripped at the bottom. He’s covered in scratches, in blood. He looks up to me, looking more pitiful than I have ever seen him. 

“You’re her. You’re the telepath. Are you—are you going to help me?” 

He sounds so forlorn. He sounds terrified. 

“He’s going to come back. He’s going to hurt me again. He’s going to—“ 

“Who did this to you?” I find myself asking. My voice is a different pitch. It has the singsong quality to it that Hyde had. 

“I did,” Jensson whispers. “I did this to me.” 

“You’re locked in here. Locked in your own mind. He took over, didn’t he?” 

“It’s just him. It’s all him. I’m gone. I’m here. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Help… help me?” 

“I don’t know how,” I say. 

“He—He wants me dead. He would have me die so he could live. It can’t work like that. You have to kill me. You have to kill us.” 

“What if there’s a way? A way to make you the dominant personality? I can try. I have to try,” I plead. I’m here now, I can’t go back. 

“No,” He murmurs. “That demon already killed me. He trapped me here. The only way to stop me is to end me. You have to kill me.” 

“I can’t. I can’t do that.” 

“You have mental powers, too,” he says, tilting his head, standing up. “You’re afraid. You’re afraid of what you could become. You’re afraid you could become like me.” 

I step away from him. His face changes. He grows spikes along his face, his shoulder, as he grows in height. 

I turn, I try to run, but he appears in front of me, flickering between Hyde and Jensson, with the cracking, melting skin. I try to run. I can’t run. 

“I will show you what you could become.” 

He grabs for me. This is what he wanted all along; he snaps a chain around my wrist, then the other. He drags me upward, I’m covered in blood until— 

* * *

We open her eyes. The Flash stands before us. He calls her name that is not her name. Omni, he cries. With a flick of our wrist, we form electricity, a pulse, and it grows. He steps backwards. We look to him. Even with his mask, he looks terrified. He calls her name once more, but she can’t hear him. I can hear him, though, through muffled tones. 

We toss the pulse directly into his chest. It hits and he falls on impact. He looks surprised. He rolls until he slams, hard on the ground, before groaning and attempting to get up. We shoot another bolt at him with our mind. He cries out in pain and collapses. 

She cries out too. She pushes against me. 

The man called an archaic weapon shoots at us. We catch it in our hand, snapping the arrow’s shaft in two and tossing it aside. We hear their conversations, their thoughts. Their panicked thoughts are a cacophony, colliding and making sense although they shouldn’t. I know her pain. I feel it too, but hers is overwhelming. It causes me to waver, but I catch myself. 

The one called the Flash is the most distraught. He loves her without loving her, for he loves another. We feel it in our chest like a gaping, throbbing wound, although we try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. 

Something screams into our earpiece. There is much beeping and noise from the other side. A voice tries to calmly talk to her, tell her to fight, tell her not to let me take her. 

He is not who he says he is. None of them are who they think they are. 

We turn to face the Arrow. He draws again, this time, aiming for my true body. We push into his mind. It is not hard. She has done it before. When we do, the next time he blinks, he is transported. 

His greatest fear is a place called Lian Yu. Now, he is defenseless. He is young, he is untrained. Something in his eyes goes dark. 

The man in the tuxedo, the one called Freelancer, draws to shoot at my true body. We jump inside his mind once more. He stops moving. We bind him to his action. And with a sharp breath, he watches as he turns the gun’s barrel towards himself. He cannot stop. The fear in his eyes state he cannot move and he has realized this. 

But he breaks free. This body fights against me. This mind fights against me. I am reeling. I am. I am— 

* * *

I’m on my knees, I want to puke. I almost do. He’s in my mind, he’s in my mind, I can’t get him out. 

“Help me, I can’t—he’s going to take me, he’s going to—he wants to kill you, he wants to—he’s going to kidnap me, they’re going to—“ 

My wrists, they’re bleeding, they’re bleeding like they’ve been bound with rough chain. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing. There’s— 

All I can do is scream. I want him out, I can’t breathe, everything is black as he pushes me back inside. 

* * *

I regain control of the young woman’s body. 

We look for Ms. Hart. Her body lay on the ground, unconscious. We throw a gentle mental bolt in her direction, and it jolts Ms. Hart awake. 

It is three against three now. I feel the struggle, though. 

I feel her struggle. 

The Flash comes at us again. This time he comes with open hands, with hands of surrender. They wish to save her. She fears they are too late. She is correct. It is too late. 

I search her mind. She does not know how to save Jensson. This is good news: if she does not know, then he is forgotten. His body is mine now, to keep. But if she cannot save him, she must know how to suppress him. She must do that. I must find that deep inside her mind. 

The only way to fight against her is overwhelm her, all three of them decide on their own. The Arrow starts shooting as fast as he can at us. We throw up an iridescent shield and they bounce off. So do Freelancer’s bullets. She cannot believe they are shooting at her. 

But the Flash comes at us from behind. We only have a fraction of a second to react— 

He throws us onto the ground. We are nearly knocked unconscious. She forces our eyes shut, trying to recalibrate, fight against me. 

She wants her body back. I push deeper. Dr. Odessa Alyona “Essie” Price. Born March 11, 1987. 27 years old. Code name: Omni. Aligned with The Flash, civilian name Bartho— 

* * *

I rip myself away from him. 

I can stop this. I can stop him. 

I push the Flash away from me, half physically and half mentally. He stumbles back. I turn towards Hyde’s body. He stands, untouched, like he’s just a physical shell. 

I close my eyes, feeling his presence inside my mind, but I can’t bring myself to care right at this moment. 

I build up the strongest bolt I can. It forms in both my palms, frothing until they become one giant sphere. 

_Run. Run, all of you. Run. Now. Go._

The Flash tries to fight me. 

_Go. Get the hell out, go._

Freelancer and Arrow start dragging the Flash out, as fast as they could go. 

I’m not going to survive this, am I? 

I release the ball of energy. 

It slams into Jensson. It slams into Jordan. It slams into me, and I don’t think they were fast enough. They catch the edge of the iridescent ball of energy, of light, of mental incapacitation as it expands out of the ballroom. 

And when it hits Jensson, I feel the same pain course through my body. For me, it’s superficial, I’m built to handle it. I’m built for this. 

Jensson’s out of my mind. 

He’s out. I’ve forced him outside. 

But I drop. I don’t think my soul is inside my body anymore. 

My knees hit the floor first. Then my palms. Then my head— 


	21. Deep Shadow

I’m walking in the desert. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. My feet are sore. I’m thirsty as hell. That blood red sky doesn’t change; it seems to glow all on its own. There’s no sun or moon. 

In the distance, a spindly tree flickers into life. It blinks, like it’s trying to focus. It’s there, then it’s gone, and then it’s back again. 

A person hangs from it, from his arms, where his feet barely touch the ground. His toes track along the dusty ground, cutting tiny little swaths in the dirt. 

I run towards him. 

He flickers. He disappears. 

I keep running, and nearly collide with the tree. It’s closer than I thought. 

It’s Erik Jensson, hanging from bloody, possibly broken wrists. 

“Help—help me. Please.” 

I find the branch where his shackles are slung. Although it hurts to raise my arms up too high, I manage to climb the tree to reach the branch. 

“Just hang on,” I say. “Give me a moment—“ 

I pull a bobby pin from my hair to pick the padlock. But when I look at it, it’s not a padlock anymore—it’s a high tech lock with a numerical code. It wasn’t like that before. I can pick locks. Now I have to determine the code. 

I close my eyes. I can do this. I’ve done this before. It’s not hard, it can’t be too hard. 

First, how many numbers is it? The screen looks like it could be five or six numbers. I don’t know what to try. I don’t know what Hyde’s code would be. 

I’ve been in his mind, though. I’ve been there before, so I close my eyes, I search through my memory, looking for something that’s familiar. 

It was all a trap. 

He wanted me all along. 

He wanted me here for a reason— 

I look back to the lock. I know what the code is. 

633772\. 

Odessa. 

It blinks green and Jensson drops, crumples to the ground. I jump down too, but when I hit the ground my ankle buckles and I roll. Something in my shoulder pops and I cry out in pain. 

Jensson pulls me too my feet. The tree is gone. We’re alone in this vast desert. 

“What are you doing here?” He hisses, panicked He’s making me panic. “He’s going to come back. He’s going to come back and wonder why I’m out, and who helped me—“ 

“I don’t know how I got here, but I’m going to do my best to help you,” I find myself saying. “We have to do this together. You’re not going to die. I’m not going to let you die.” 

He peers at me hard, like he thinks I’m lying. 

“You’re—you’re flickering. You’re leaving. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.” 

He’s desperate, and I look down at myself. He’s right. I’m here, and then I’m gone. I can’t stay. I can’t stay— 

My hands are numb. I can’t feel my arms. They’re above me. I’m shackled. I want to close my eyes. 

I can’t close my eyes. I can’t. I can’t go back there, to the blood red sky— 

_Barry. Barry, I need your help._

I’m so hazy. I can’t push out, I can’t reach out, I can’t— 

Everything is white. It’s all white, the room, the floor, the ceiling, where’s the door? Where am I? _Barry—_

I try to reach the floor with my toes, but they’re barely touching. I can’t reach it with my boots, so all my weight is dragging down on my wrists, hanging from the ceiling. I try to pull myself up. I cry out in pain— 

_Help me._

My shoulder hangs out of joint. I can’t drag myself upwards. I shouldn’t, at least. 

I look up. I lull my head up, more like it. I can’t keep my head up. I can’t. 

My wrists hang from the ceiling. From the chains, they’re cutting into my skin, and they’re bleeding rivulets of dark blood running down, down. 

The sleeves of my suit, now tattered, are wet. 

They took me. They took me, and for how long? 

I look down at the floor. It’s scuffed from my boots touching it. My suit is too heavy, too heavy with blood. 

There’s blood in trails and drips around me. It’s staining the stark white floor. 

Drip, drop. Tick, tock. 

How do I get out? How do I get out of here? How do I— 

A needle is taped to my hand. It’s embedded in my skin. There’s an I.V. I chase the line with my eyes, and it’s hooked to a bag, with something dripping red—even if I didn’t have my hands in restraints, I wouldn’t be able to reach it without stepping forward, or grabbing it or moving in general— 

Next to me, there’s a computer with cords coming out of it. I suddenly know what’s tickling my shoulders, and it’s not my hair fallen out of Cait’s hairdo. They’re cords. They lead up to my head. 

Beyond the computer is a hospital bed. Erik Jensson lay there, eyes closed, unmoving. 

The cords lead to his head. 

A noise behind me makes me jump, and I see Jordan surround me. 

“How do you like Dr. Jensson’s cocktail?” 

She grabs my chin, tilts my head sideways. 

“Go ahead and try to get into my mind.” 

She knows. Whatever is dripping into me is stopping me from using my powers. It’s stopping me from using any of my powers. 

It’s so quiet. I hear nothing. There’s nothing around me. I can’t handle the silence. For how long I’ve wanted silence, once I get it, it’s terrifying. 

Why is this the only thing that’s terrifying right now? 

She grabs my head. She grabs my hair, holds it steady and throws her knee into my stomach. I can’t even double over. 

She smashes her fist into my face and I just let my head drop. 

I can’t bring myself to even try to fight back. I don’t know what’s new pain and what’s old pain. 

“You have to fix him. He’s been trying this long, and it can’t be for naught. He devised this neat little machine just in case the telepath slash empath we found didn’t want to cooperate. Everything would have worked fine if you didn’t have to bring your little vigilante team to the party. Now this—this is your fault.” 

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” I whisper, I wheeze, her hand still on my throat. 

“At the gala, you released a force so strong it knocked him back into himself. Figure out how to fix him. Figure out how to fix me.” 

I try to piece it together—the force knocked her out too. It knocked out her powers. 

They’re both useless. 

“You should have helped us in the first place,” she says insistently. “We could have avoided this entire mess if you would have just helped us.” 

But she kidnapped me. He killed someone. I don’t even know her name. And she’s left me here, in this place— 

“I can’t,” I try. My mouth is too dry. I can’t even breathe, let along speak. I swallow, I swallow hard, in an attempt to get more air, but she still grips tightly on my throat. 

“What do you mean, you can’t?”  
“Jensson is gone, he’s alienated deep inside his body. It’s always been Hyde,” I hoarsely get out. 

“How do you know this?” 

“I was in his mind. Deep. Jensson—I don’t know how to get him back.” 

“You have to try,” Jordan says, letting go of my throat. “You have to. I didn’t do all of this to have you fail. You have to fix him. You have to. Do it. Do it now.” 

I pull up on the chains holding me up, trying to pull the weight off my shoulders, but it doesn’t work. It makes things much worse. I let out a whimper. 

“I need you to fix me,” Jordan finally says. “I need my power back. It’s the only way I kept Hyde at bay.” 

“You—you did a pretty shitty job at it.” 

I regret my attitude. She pulls at the end of the chain hanging from the ceiling, pulling me that much higher into the air. My arms throb. Everything’s sharp and dull all at once. 

“Fine. Fine—if you’re not going to agree to this, we’ll do it the hard way.” 

“Why is it always the hard way?” I snipe. 

She drops me down. I barely feel it when she jabs a needle into my neck. 

I see Oliver. He’s driving in a convertible with Felicity. He looks happy. He’s smiling. He’s actually happy. 

I see Caitlin in a white dress. I see Cisco, but a hand from an unknown owner, it vibrates too quickly in front of him. The hand pulls Cisco’s heart from his chest. 

I see a black hole, swirling above Central City. 

I see a white room. 

Everything burns. 

I burn. 

The sky is green. This time, there is a hill—the most perfectly formed hill I’ve ever seen. Erik Jensson pushes a boulder, bigger than himself, up the steep incline. Just when he is about to reach the top, it rolls back down, coming to a stop at the base of the hill. 

A Sisyphean act, if I’ve ever seen one. 

“Erik!” I yell, and just as he finishes sliding down the hill, he finally looks to me. His face is tired, he’s ashen, and he looks like he hasn’t had a drink in days. But this version looks strong, and his muscles nearly match the ones Hyde could have if he wasn’t so disjunctive. 

“I can’t stop. He’ll know. If I stop, he’ll come for me again,” he says, taking his position behind the boulder. 

“What is this for? Your hubris? Your cleverness?” 

“I’ve tried to deceive him many times. I should not try to deceive him, for he will punish me, like Zeus did King Sisyphus.” He peers warily up the hill, reaching for the boulder again. He speaks strangely, almost like Hyde himself. 

“How do I stop him? How do I stop Hyde?” I call out, trying to hold myself there, for I feel myself flickering. 

He starts to push. 

“He will come for me if I stop,” he repeats, not looking at me. His expression is blank, in his voice and face. “I am not permitted to stop.” 

When I wake up again, I don’t know how long it’s been, but my mouth is dry, my arms are numb, it hurts to breathe. I don’t know why it’s taking so long for someone to… to— 

_Barry. Please. Help me._

“Got any new ideas? You spent a while in there,“ she says. 

Jordan’s still there, and she just looks more and more pissed off. This time, she brandishes a pistol. 

In there? What the hell does she mean? 

“You’re only alive as long as you’re useful, you know that, right?” 

I can’t even breathe. My throat—it’s tight, it’s scratchy. 

Everything else is numb. 

It finally makes sense. She’s putting me inside his mind. This machine—it places me inside Jensson’s subconscious. 

That’s exactly what he’s seeing inside his coma. 

“Listen,” she pleads, changing tactics. It doesn’t help when she’s wielding that gun. “You’ve got to help us. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. He’s not a bad person. He’s just in a bad situation. He doesn’t deserve to die from this.” 

“He… he hurt people. He killed people. You’re doing this to me.” 

She crosses her arms tightly across her chest. “And what does that make you? It makes you the same thing. You did this to him. Not anyone else. If you would have come to help us…” She drifts. 

This can’t be my fault. 

This isn’t my fault. 

But the coma—I did that to him. 

If I fix him, will it make him better? Or will I just be giving Hyde a permanent hold on Jensson’s form? 

When did I have the right to decide who gets a normal life or who doesn’t? 

Am I like him? Am I like Wells? 

I’m having too hard of a time breathing. It shouldn’t be this hard. I shouldn’t be this cold, either. 

_I have to get out. I have to—_

She pulls the needle forcibly from my hand. It stings. It drips blood. 

“Try it now,” she says, tossing the I.V. to the ground. 

I try to breathe, I try to get a deeper breath. I feel myself drifting, but after a dozen breaths the pain feels deeper. My mind, clearer. 

I could kill her. I could get out of here. 

_Barry. Barry, I don’t know where I’m at, I don’t know when it is—help me._

She slams her knuckles into my ribs. One that I’m pretty sure was already cracked feels like it shifted. 

“Do it.” 

Instead, I try to throw a bolt at her mind, push her back— 

She grabs at my throat again. She sets her jaw. She pushes the needle back under my skin and into my bloodstream. 

I hear the safety click off on the gun. I shut my eyes. I feel the barrel against my temple. 

If she pulls the trigger I won’t feel a thing. 

“If you’re not going to try, I’m not going to try.” She storms out of the white room. 

I feel myself falling again, things get quieter. They’re getting quiet— 

_Barry please help me please hear me_

The cocktail. That’s what’s stopping me from doing anything. That’s what’s got me. It’s the dripping liquid. It’s the red dripping liquid. 

It’s her blood. It’s Jordan’s blood, it’s what’s stopping me from using my powers. 

I have to pull it out. I have to make it stop dripping. How am I going to make it stop? How do I— 

I try to inch my fingers towards it, but I can’t feel them, and I know I can’t reach. I’m not going to be able to reach it. Not unless— 

If I break my wrist, I could reach it. It’s nearly broken anyway. I’m going to have to do it. I have to do it— 

_ Oh, God, Barry, please hear me._

I cringe, but I hear it snap against the metal restraints before I feel it. I’m going to be okay. I have to be okay. Now, I can reach it. I can reach it— 

It slips between my fingers, slick with blood. Not hers, mine. I know it, because I feel the pressure, slipping, slipping. 

I pinch it together. It takes everything in me to do it. I slip it between my fingers, tightly. That’s all the energy I have. 

I hope I can keep it pinched, I hope I can as I drift back off. 

_I’m not like him. I’m nothing like him._

The world around me is covered in spikes. Different colors of metal, different heights, different widths. I can barely make my way through the terrifying forest of sharp things. The sky is blue and black, and I can barely see. 

But I can hear the screaming. I hear the screaming coming from somewhere close. I find a clearing—a small one, where the spikes are smaller but sharper. In the middle, Erik Jensson lays upon a bed of spikes. He’s chained down to them, on top of them. They’re growing ever so slowly, pushing into his skin. 

He lets out another piercing scream. 

I reach him, finally, after what feels like days. I pull at the chains, I try to undo them, but they’re rusty and melting. 

“There’s no use,” he whispers. “I’m never going to get out. I’m never—“ 

I hold on to the chain, I shake it, I try to break it and I let out my own cry of anguish. This is impossible. This is all in one man’s mind. 

This is all in one man’s mind— 

“Erik. Erik, listen to me,” I say. I take his hand, still bound by the chains. I don’t get any of his emotion. “You can get out of here. You have to believe you will.” 

He lets out a pointed laugh. He knows I’m crazy. He at least thinks I’m crazy. 

“You can! You can. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You have to try really hard to imagine you’re not on this bed. That you’re not chained. Okay? Can you do that?” 

He peers at me with red rimmed eyes. He hasn’t slept in weeks. “What harm will it do?” He tries. 

“You know I’m the telepath right?” 

“Right.” 

“I’m going to jump in your mind so I know what you’re thinking of. That way, both of us can think of the same thing.” 

He just closes his eyes. I jump inside, barely met with any resistance. 

He imagines a brightly lit, large warehouse-sized white room. The floors are white, the ceilings are white, the walls are all reflective white. He clears his mind of all thoughts but this. I join in. I feel myself breathing even harder, grasping onto Erik’s hand, tightly, until the musty smell of wet metal is all but gone. 

I open my eyes. So does Erik. We’re not there anymore. We’re in the white room. 

“How did—why—“ He starts. 

“It’s all in your mind, Erik,” I say. “Your mind. Not his. You can be in control.” 

“I can’t be in control. I’m never in control.” 

The third time I wake up, I feel clearer but the pain feels deeper. My wrist, my muscles, my sides, my lower back… I swallow the sourness in my throat, the dryness keeping me from breathing deeply. But my whole body throbs. 

It hurts. It hurts so badly, but I know with the throbbing pain something’s back in me. Something I can use. 

I don’t know how much longer… 

_ Barry. Barry, please. Barry, can you hear me—I don’t know where I am. I can’t breathe—I… please help me. Help me. Help me, or I’m going to… I’m going to die down here._

I open my eyes again. 

All I see is white and red. Stark, dripping. All the lines are blurred, though, like I can’t keep my eyes focused. 

_I don’t know where I am. I can’t—I can’t see a thing. It’s all white. It’s like… it’s like a lab. It’s—it’s got to be Jensson’s lab. _My breath keeps catching. I know I’m not going to breathe much longer. 

I can’t stop shivering. 

My hand slips. I let go of the I.V. 

If he didn’t hear me, I’m dead. If he did, I’m dead anyways. 

_I’m dead anyways._

I have to remind myself how to breathe. Maybe… maybe I don’t have to. 

Maybe it’s time. 

If I give up now, maybe they’ll find my body. 

Jordan is back. She looks tired. I can’t even lift my head. I don’t know what she expects of me. 

If I had enough energy, maybe I could. I could slip into her mind, I could throw the veritable breaker switch in her brain to turn on her powers again. 

But what’s she’s done to me has broken me. 

She knows it. It says it on her face. 

She was too passionate, too intense, too much. Had she been cooler headed, more logical, maybe this situation would have ended differently. 

Or maybe it wouldn’t have. 

Maybe it was fate to end up this way. 

Maybe this whole story is how I die. 

Or how part of me dies, at least. 

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I just try, one last time— 

My breath catches, and I gasp for air. 

“Let me down. Please.” 

She immediately does what I ask—she pulls a white hospital bed close to me, unshackles my arms. I can’t feel them, but she helps me lay down onto the bed. I feel a sense of relief when she removes the I.V. I see red streaks of blood from where I touch her on her arm. I don’t know if I’m controlling her or if she sees the senselessness of all of this. 

Maybe if I fix her, she could fix Jensson. Maybe— 

“Let me—let me in. To your mind.” 

She looks at me tentatively, warily. But she lowers her guard. 

I lay my head back on the pillow. I’m on reserve power, but I can feel her anxiety. She’s scared. She wants to go back to how she felt before. 

_This might hurt_ I say and I don’t know exactly what I’m doing but I let loose a pulse. Another mental pulse, and she nearly drops to her knees. I retract from her mind, and she seemingly flexes her powers. 

Her returned powers. 

“You—you fixed me? After everything I’ve done to you?” 

“I’m not like him,” I whisper. “I’m not like you.” 

I can see the horror on her face. She immediately starts to take the nodes off my head, but I touch her hand once more. 

“I can fix him. I know what to do. But—but I need your help.” 

She looks at me with wide eyes, nodding. “Okay. Tell me what to do.” 

I’m already slipping away. I close my eyes. I’m back in the white room. Erik is there. And when I look to my right, so is Jordan. 

With a flicker in front of us, Hyde appears—his skin is melting. Otherwise, he’s a clone of Erik. 

“You’re away from your post,” he sneers at Erik. Erik cowers, looking like he’s about to run. I bodily hold him back. 

“This is the only way you’re going to be able to get rid of him,” I whisper in his ear. “You have to stay. You have to stand up for what’s yours.” 

“Ah. Jordan Leslie Hart. Born July 6, 1986. A lab assistant at Lanyon Labs. Nearly 30 with no way to move upwards.” 

Jordan looks as if she’s going to take on Hyde all by her lonesome. 

“So what now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?”  
“Odessa Alyona Price. Born—“ 

“Spare me the biography lesson,” I snap. “What do you want from Erik?” 

“His body, of course.” He tilts his head sideways, looking at him eerily. It takes everything in me not to punch him. After all this time, I still just want to wail on his ass. 

“What makes you think he’s going to give it up?” Jordan calls out. 

“Because he will not survive this.” 

He flickers and disappears. I don’t know where the hell he went, I don’t know where he’s going to appear, but I protect Erik behind me. Jordan gets on his other side, so we’re in a circle, holding back Erik. 

What to do, what to do— 

Hyde flickers somewhere close to Jordan. She lets loose a green pulse of energy, but it doesn’t faze him. He disappears again. 

I throw up a shield, the iridescence just barely covering the three of us. 

“We’re protected,” I say. I can feel the strain. It’s taking too much to even throw up the shield, and I know we can’t do this for long. I’m dying. I’m dying, I realize. “A plan? Anyone?” 

“We’re in the mind of a man with multiple personalities,” Jordan says, nearly to herself. “So how do we stop the secondary personality from killing the primary personality?” 

“We kill the secondary personality?” I say. I check on Erik. He looks exhausted, terrified, with heavy lidded eyes. 

“How do we kill a personality that’s sporadic we can’t predict its movements?” She asks. 

“We distract it.” 

Jordan nods. “Leave that to me. I can handle the distraction. How do we put it down?” 

“You can’t kill him. You would kill me too,” Erik says. 

“Then what do we do? Merge the personalities? Find a way to make them into one?” I suggest. He hasn’t resurfaced. He hasn’t flickered into view. 

It’s silent. I can’t hear anyone’s thoughts. I can’t feel anyone emotions. 

I’m dying. 

Every breath I take is shorter and shorter. That’s all I can hear in the penetrating silence. 

“What’s... happening to the walls?” Erik asks quietly. 

From the edge of the side of the room, I see something dark inching down from the ceiling. It drips down the walls. It leaves red tracks down the stark white. 

“Oh, great. Just what we need. Horror movie, blood stained walls,” Jordan says under her breath. 

“Shut up. Listen. You said you needed an empath to put him together again, right?“ I can barely finish my sentence without gasping for air. “Erik, do you know what you need me to do?” 

He blinks, like he’s waking up again, before looking to me. “An empath—a powerful one—could take the two personalities and merge them together, eliminating the multiple personality and giving dominance to the primary personality. By connecting their minds, the dominating personality would take over.” 

“So here’s the thing, Erik. You need to be the dominating personality. You need to fix this yourself. You think you can fight against Hyde?” 

He doesn’t seem so sure. I know that for a fact. But he’s got to do it if we’re going to survive. 

My shield wavers, and Jordan peers at me warily. “Are you ready?” 

“No,” I admit, but I let my shield fall. I don’t really have a choice. 

Hyde flickers in front of me. I grab onto Erik and dive away from him, and we get out of dodge just quick enough to see Jordan throw more mental bolts at him. 

Erik grasps onto my arm, and I feel a flood of anxiety, of terror, of hysteria. Of confusion, of why-could-this-happen-to-me, why, why why why— 

I know how to fix this. 

I drag him forward. Towards Hyde. Towards the fight that Hyde wages with Jordan. 

But he finally transforms. He transforms from his melting, nearly human form into the spiked, musty, chain wielding creature terrorizing Central City. 

He whips his chain and it latches onto my wrist. He drags me towards him, drags Erik along with me. I see blood dripping down the walls, down, down, down. He’s not going to take me alive. 

Tick, tock. Time waits for no man. 

I grab for Erik, and he holds onto my hand. Once Hyde drags me up to him, I use the chain. We’re connected. The chain is latched onto his wrist, so we’re handcuffed together. I lean up and grab his forearm. 

He lets out a scream, a high pitched, horrible shriek. I can’t let go. If I let go, I die. 

But there’s another scream. 

Jordan’s scream. 

With his free hand, his large fist, muscled shoulder, spiked arm he’s pushed his way into Jordan’s chest, spikes protruding from his knuckles. When he pulls his hand out, her chest starts coloring in red. 

She falls to her knees. 

I’m flooded in pain. All I can feel is pain, in my body, in my mind. I’m connecting Hyde and Erik. They’re together, flowing through my mind. 

Erik needs her. He needed her to survive, her passion, her care, and he just killed her. Hyde just killed her. 

That’s all he needed to beat Hyde— 

He never wanted to be this way. He thought he could fix it, fix himself, he was too educated, too knowledgeable to be affected like this. It was neurological not psychological it’s neurological not psychological how could this be neurological when—and the reactor blows it turns me into something I’m not, I never asked for this I just wanted to be normal again and now I’m terrorizing the city I thought I loved but they’re demonizing me I just want to heal myself I want to find a way out of this mess, this thing is everything evil inside of me, I would take it all back if I could I would take it all back and internalize it, I can fight this, and he’s killing the only person that ever showed a caring hand to me, my only friend— 

My only friend, dying at my hand. 

Hyde is me, and I’m killing her. My only friend. 

She’s dying trying to help me. 

All I ever wanted was someone that would care about me if I died, all I ever wanted was a reason to help people, and I get this. I get this power that I cannot control that is killing me inside out. I get something that hurts the very few people I love. 

I don’t know whose thoughts they are—mine or his. 

I concentrate. I concentrate on Erik’s thoughts, I override the sheer hatred and the anger and the personification of everything bad in Erik from Hyde and— 

I gasp awake. 

I’m not there anymore. I’m on the floor. 

“Jordan! Jordan, no—no you can’t. Jordan, listen to me, we’ll get you help—“ 

With double vision, I see Jordan, crumpled on the floor near me, blood pouring out of her chest where Hyde had stabbed her. Erik… Erik? He holds her, now awake, now the Erik from inside his mind. 

But her eyes are glassy, open, and her chest doesn’t move. 

The only way she could redeem her actions is death, so it seems. 

He’s weeping. I can’t feel his emotions. I can’t feel anything. 

_Barry. It’s over. Hyde is gone. If you can hear me—I saved him. I saved Jensson._

I hear footsteps. I hear the sharp draw of an arrow against a bowstring. 

“Don’t touch Jensson! He’s safe—“ 

Barry’s voice. Barry’s here. He made it. He’s here— 

“She’s in here!” 

“Oliver?” I mutter, my voice even weaker than I anticipated. It’s barely a whisper. It’s barely a breath. 

But he’s not paying attention to me. I only see the white ceiling—I can only hear the action happen at my feet. 

“Jensson, put the gun down,” Oliver says. “Put it down.” 

“She’s dead because of me. That woman is dead because of me. And she—that metahuman—she could die because of me.“  
“That is no reason to take your own life.” 

“None of this would have happened if I shot myself when the reactor blew.“ 

“This isn’t going to solve anything, Jensson, listen to—”  
The gun goes off and I hear a body drop dully against the floor. 

“Erik,“ I try, “Erik, please—” 

“Es, he’s gone,“ I hear Oliver say. I try to look up. He’s in his Arrow uniform. He’s holding his bow. He looks at me but doesn’t seem to know where to start. I try to reach for his hand. He does most of the work. I can’t see straight. It’s all double vision. I try to focus on one Oliver Queen, and he holds onto my hand. 

“Don’t—don’t do it. If you leave, you’ll fail the city,” I find myself whispering. “Don’t go. Don’t make a deal with the demon.” I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know. He gives me a puzzled look. 

“Get in here!” He calls out. “What happened?” Oliver says. “What happened to him?” 

“I healed him. Jordan died… she died saving him.” 

My breath keeps catching. I think I’m shaking. 

Everything is cold. Every touch makes me numb. 

He holds his fingers to my wrist. I feel the pressure reading my heart rate. 

“Her pulse is weak. I think she’s delusional. We need to get her out of here.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut; my head lulls sideways. It feels better when I don’t have to hold it up. The darkness feels better. There’s nothing to hurt me there. 

“Don’t shut your eyes, Es. Don’t,” Oliver mutters. 

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. Hands touch my cheeks, lead my head upwards, and I try to open my eyes. 

Barry peers back at me, his mask pulled off, his hair mussed. 

“You heard me,” I crack. He just nods his head softly. I’m so cold, and his hands feel so warm on my face. 

“She’s burning up,” Barry says back to Oliver. 

“I couldn’t save her. She sacrificed herself for him. But he—he’s fine. He’s going to be okay. I saved him, Barry. I figured out how to save him.” 

“Don’t talk. You’re going to be fine,” Barry murmurs. 

“You came, though. You came. You heard me, didn’t… didn’t you?” 

Everything I want to say comes out so simple. Simpler than I want it to be said, but I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t exist— 

“We’re going to get you out of here, okay?” He says, I think there’s tears in his eyes, I don’t know how bad I look but if I look half as bad as I feel I know it’s pretty bad. 

I know it’s probably too bad. 

I really can’t breathe. I hear myself gasp for breath. 

“Tell Cait—take care of Chekhov. And Cisco—moye solntse. I–“ 

Barry starts shaking his head violently. “No. Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be just fine.” 

He pulls me into his lap. The whole world spins. I’m dizzy. I can’t feel my arms, I can’t move them on my own. But I’m so cold. 

I’m too cold. 

Oliver mutters into his earpiece something about bringing the van around when I realize my head and shoulders are cradled by Barry. I look up at him, his image going between single and double vision. I gasp for breath. 

I’m so cold. 

“You need to stay conscious, Essie. You need to stay with me,” Barry says. I’m shivering. He seems to speak to Oliver. “I’m going to take her. I have to get her back to the lab. Reroute the van. Get them back to the lab—Es, you need to stay conscious.” 

I’m still in the white room. Why am I still in the white room? 

“He’s a hero, tell him he’s a hero—he’s not a coincidence, he’s everything. He’s a hero—” 

I start to close my eyes, it hurts too much to breathe, like half of my capabilities are gone. I’m dying. This is what dying feels like. I want to talk to Barry, I want to say something to him, but— 

“Oliver, I think her lung collapsed—Essie, please. C’mon. Stay conscious.” 

“I can’t,” I simply hear myself say, barely a whisper. “I can’t… stay with you.” 

It feels so long ago that we spent those hours celebrating the new year. I was dizzy then, too. Barry held me then. 

A song pops into my head and I hear myself murmuring the lyrics. It’s a hoarse whisper. I gasp for breath every other word. “Start spreading the news… I’m leaving today…” 

“Oliver, she’s going down. I don’t know—I don’t know what to do. Essie, you’ve got to hold on.” 

I know I can’t stay. I take another shallow breath. I’m aware of my own heartbeat. 

“Es, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes. Please.” 

I let my eyes drift shut. I saved him. I couldn’t save her, but I saved him. The bad guy was the good guy, the girl thought she was doing something right and instead did something horribly wrong until she redeemed herself by sacrificing herself. 

And then he shot himself. 

Up was down, left was right and black and white mixed until they were a plain shade of grey and that’s all I can see—that’s all I can see is a heavy shade of grey. I see grey, I see Oliver, I see Barry. I see Barry. I see black. 

“Essie, don’t—“ 


	22. Event Horizon

Something feels off. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know something’s off. 

There’s light. No, not the light at the end of the tunnel. Bright lights. Hospital lights. Oh, God. That hurts. It hurts my eyes. 

The pain kicks in. Each breath I take feels like my chest is exploding and I unintentionally let out a groan. 

I blink, and my eyes start to focus. I survey my surroundings: I’m back at S.T.A.R. Labs. 

It starts rushing back to me. After I don’t know how long, they found me. 

I’m alive. How the hell am I alive? 

To my right, Barry sits in a revolving chair with half his body laying on my bed, fast asleep. Both Cait and Cisco have followed suit in chairs of their own nearby. 

I try to say something. It burns. Everything burns, my arms down to my feet. 

The only thing I can do is reach out my fingertips to graze Barry’s hand. 

He jolts for a moment, and he doesn’t seem surprised. He touches Cait, she wakes up, she walks like a ghost. She checks my eyes with a light and talks to Barry over me. She almost echoes. 

“What is it now?” He asks quietly. 

“She’s vastly improving,” she says. “She started as a 2.5, which shows massive trauma. But now she’s at a 13.2 out of 15.” 

“Isn’t it for head trauma, though?” 

“Technically, but I’m estimating.” 

I start coughing. Cait starts, looking at me like I’ve offended her. 

“Oh. Oh, we should—we should get her some water,” she says, suddenly flustered. “I need—I need to—” 

He grabs her hands over me, stopping her flailing. He’s making her focus. “What do you need, Cait?” 

I get a drink, I think, then I slip in and out of consciousness, but I hear their voices. 

Each breath hurts. I try to take a deeper breath but it just makes me shudder. It’s so cold. I shiver again. 

When I wake back up again, Cait watches me from her seat, dark circles under her eyes. She starts to get up again, presumably to check my vitals. I know what’s going on, I think—there are levels. Levels to consciousness. Levels to a coma, and I keep drifting in and out. 

I have to tell her I’m awake. I have to— 

I weakly grab her hand as she moves to check my pulse. 

“Cait—Caitlin.” 

“Essie?” Her voice automatically cracks. “You’re—you’re awake. You—” She clears her throat and goes into business mode. “What’s your name?” 

“Odessa Alyona Price,” I begin. And before she asks, I continue. “March 11, 1987. I know it’s January, 2015. I—I don’t know the date.” 

She almost looks frantic again. She grabs Cisco’s arm since it’s closer. He shoots up. 

“Is it my turn for a shift?” 

“Cisco, she—she’s awake.” 

I’m pretty sure I see him cross himself. That’s a new one, even for him. He leans down next to me, and I grab for his hand, and it looks like his heart is breaking. He brushes my hair back from my face with his other hand, letting it linger on my cheek. I’m strangely okay with it. His touch is comforting. 

“She drugged me. I couldn’t get a hold of you. I couldn’t contact Barry. I couldn’t use my powers. They took me, Cisco, I—I almost died. I almost died with — without you. I couldn’t get to you. Cisco — “ I sound more and more frantic. I can’t help it. Just seeing him makes me want to have him closer. 

“Mi cielo, don’t get excited,” he whispers. I hear my own heart rate increasing from the machine. I don’t know what to say. When I blink, I see the white room. When I blink again, I see the black hole. I can’t breathe, not even from the tube pushing it into my nose. 

“Hyde killed Hart. Jensson shot himself. Cisco, I couldn’t stop it. I can’t stop it. I’m going to turn into that, aren’t I? You can’t let that happen. Don’t let that happen to me. Please.” 

“Cisco, you need to calm her down,” Cait says. She slips away. Where is she going? She can’t leave. I can’t have her leave, too— 

I very nearly start to shake. I can’t control it. It’s involuntary. I can’t. I can’t control anything anymore. 

Cisco cups my face in his hands. “Es, listen to my voice. You’re in the present. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” 

I draw a quick breath and it quickly becomes a sob. He sits on the edge of the bed and for the first time in what feels like eons someone embraces me. I cry into his sweatshirt, I try to stop shaking, I don’t know what’s worse—the threat of a seizure or how cold I am. 

I grasp part of Cisco’s sweatshirt in my fist of my good hand, forcing him to stay next to me. I need to hear his heartbeat. I need to know he’s there, because I can’t hear anything else. I can’t hear his thoughts, I can only hear my own. 

It’s frightfully quiet. He stays there, rubbing his hand on my back, until I fall asleep. 

* * *

I soon discover why I did not suffer as many of the ill effects of a coma as I should—during moments of lucidity, when they could hold a conversation with me through the lighter parts of my brief coma, Barry would take as much of my pain and injuries as I could let him. 

Eventually, Cait listed off exactly what had been done to me. Various abrasions and bruises. Significant blood loss. A few broken ribs, a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, a collapsed lung. Then, she said, I suffered from acute immune hemolytic reaction—my body didn’t like the blood that Jordan had used to poison me. 

Any number of these things could have killed me, she said, but Barry kept taking my pain. He took as much as he could, any time that he could. 

That’s why he lay cocooned on the nearby hospital bed, sleeping soundly. He hadn’t awoken yet. This shift was supposed to be Barry’s, as he was off work today on rotation, while Cisco and Caitlin got a brief amount of time to regroup before returning tomorrow. I don’t even know what day it is. 

My ribs aren’t wrapped, I know that that’s usual protocol, but my shoulder is braced tightly with something Cait has probably found in her bag of tricks and my wrist has a cast on it. I see a sling at the foot of my bed. I grab it and throw it around my head, adjusting it so my arm can sit comfortably inside. 

I need to stand up. I need to get out of this bed. I need to know what day it is, or what’s going on— 

I grab onto the I.V. stand before slipping out of bed. My legs shake, but they hold. Most of my trauma was above my waist, but I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. The S.T.A.R. Labs sweatpants barely stay slung around my hips, and the t-shirt they somehow got me into hangs loosely off me. 

God, I hope someone was feeding Chekhov. I’m pretty sure Cait took care of him. Yeah, she found my key, hidden in my top drawer of my desk in my office. Maybe Barry knew where it was. 

I wheel my way towards the sink and lean against the counter top with my hips. The position hurts my ribs a bit, but it keeps me relatively upright while I use my good hand to splash water on my face. The coolness almost takes my breath away, but I manage. 

My hair hangs in a limp, knotted mess. It hasn’t been washed in a week, at least; I groan audibly. I need to fix this. It’s disgusting. I pick up the hand soap container. Good enough. 

Trying not to make myself dizzy, I lean my head over the sink and start running warm water over my head. It’s a little more complicated than I care to admit, but I’m going to do it. I have to do it. I need to feel a little bit normal again. 

Just on cue while I struggle, I hear stirring in the other room. 

“What the hell, Essie—why are you out of bed? What are you doing—” 

“I’m trying to wash my hair, what the hell you think I’m doing,” I mutter, trying to wet the back of my head while trying not to make myself dizzy. 

Barry groans a little, then I feel him close to me. “Let me help.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

“You’re going to do it anyway, so I might as well,” he says, and suddenly he’s washing my hair with hand soap. It doesn’t take too long with two hands instead of one, and when he’s finished silently rinsing my hair he comes back with a towel and a brush. I wrap it around my head and I’m suddenly very tired. 

“I just want to sit down, please,” I say, grabbing onto my I.V. tower once more for stability. He immediately grabs for me. He helps me into the nearest chair then grabs a blanket from my bed, wrapping it around my legs. 

Without another word, though, he takes the towel off my head and begins brushing my hair. Gently, like he’s done it before. I don’t get his emotions. I can’t get a read on him anymore. 

“Barry, I can’t read you,” I say. I sound so… so young, but everything comes out simpler for some reason. “When you touched me, I couldn’t read you.” 

“You need to focus on healing before you worry about your powers,” he says, kneeling down beside me. “You dealt with a lot of trauma, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have to relearn how to do some things—” 

“I can’t relearn. I don’t want to relearn. I don’t think you understand, I can’t go through all of that again. I can’t, Barry—” 

“Why?” His simple question doesn’t have a simple answer, from the tone of his voice. 

“Something tells me you already know why.” 

He comes back to my side, kneeling down, holding onto the armrest of the computer chair. “Cait didn’t tell you the whole truth. Some of your injuries weren’t injuries. She discovered they were manifestations of late stages of alcohol withdrawal syndrome. You weren’t just… you weren’t just tortured. You were hallucinating and seizing during that time, too.” 

I just shut my eyes. It’s the only way to process what he’s telling me. 

“Cait pushed some benzodiazepines. It helped a little, but you’ve been mostly unconscious for the reactions.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper back, purposefully ignoring him. Of course I know what he’s talking about. I just didn’t realize it was as bad as this. 

“How did you manage to keep the voices quiet?” He asks quietly. “You’ve told me countless times that you’d hear them all the time. Essie, you were using vodka as a silencer.” 

I look up and I see Cisco and Cait in the doorway. Both have their various reactions to me being told what I guess they all knew: Cisco looks worried, scared even; Cait looks disappointed. 

“It’s so loud. It’s so loud all the time. I couldn’t control it. It’s too hard. It’s like—“ 

“There are multiple people in your mind, all at once,” Cait finishes. She doesn’t look smug, but she doesn’t look humble in her statement, either. 

“That’s why you tried to help Jensson, isn’t it?” Cisco says, lowering himself down on to the nearest chair, not even bothering to take his coat off. 

“It’s why I helped you,” I say. “It’s why I trained with you. Why I helped stop Hyde.” 

“How is it now?” Cait asks. 

I listen for a moment. I listen. I get minor fragments, like ghost thoughts, but nothing significant. Not without trying. 

“Quiet.” 

“What happened?” Cisco asks. 

“She gained more control,” Barry finishes. “She got more control when she helped Hyde. The more she flexed her powers, the better she got at it.” 

The more I breathe, the more I’m awake, the more pain I feel. I go to squeeze my eyes shut, but I see black, white, red. Black, white, red. Black spots, black swirls— 

“We’re going to talk about something else. This is all something we can address later, right, guys?” Barry says. He’s in front of me. He’s holding my face in his hands again. Did I black out? 

“We’re going to get you back into bed,” he decides. Cisco grabs onto the I.V. stand while Barry picks me up without another word and takes me back to the hospital bed I’ve begun to see as my prison. Cisco goes to leave, giving me a long look as he goes. When Barry sets me down, he sits back on the side of bed and begins braiding my hair. 

“And just when did you discover this skill?” I say in a bad attempt at humor. 

“Grew up with Iris, remember?” 

He finishes it, ties it off with something—probably a hair tie from Cait—and lets me lean back. “Yeah. I remember. You grew up with Iris. You’ve always had Iris. It’s always… it’s always been Iris,” I murmur, drifting off to sleep. 

* * *

I hear whispering. I don’t know whether it’s a dream or whether it’s reality. Or whether it’s my power, coming back, slowly—I just jolt myself awake instead, trying not to dwell on it. I can’t dream of that again. I can’t. 

When I do, I see only Caitlin and Cisco. They mill about the lab, doing what they usually end up doing, I guess. I’ve never seen them without something important to do, really. They’re in deep discussion, and it’s the whispering I heard. 

I’m strangely relieved. 

“Oh. Hey, Essie,” Cisco says, setting his tablet down and immediately coming to my side. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been hit by a really, really large truck.” 

“That is an accurate analogy,” he says, sitting down next to me. I smile when I look at his t-shirt. It’s brown, with two crossed pistols. Western typeface sports “Browncoats” on top and “Serenity Valley” on the bottom. It’s the one I got him for Christmas. I lay my hand on his shoulder, and he reaches up to take it in his. 

“Nice shirt.” 

He chuckles once, looking down at my hand. “We can keep you.” 

I try to regain my bearings, and Cait comes back to my side. She starts checking my vitals once again. 

“How did you find me? What happened at the gala?” 

They quickly share a glance, then Cisco starts in, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. 

“He—Hyde—he took you over. For a time. They tried to fight you, but every time they got close, you fought back. Then you attacked Hyde.“ 

“They didn’t get out in time,” Cait explains. “It was the biggest mental blast we’ve ever seen. Dr. Wells was convinced you would have knocked out Barry’s powers.” 

“Why didn’t I?” 

“We think because you were still holding their mental shields, Barry and the others weren’t affected,” Cait says. “They were knocked out for a time, but he’s had no ill effects since.” 

“When they woke up, you were gone,” Cisco says, looking forlorn. “Kidnapped, we had assumed. Jordan and Hyde were gone too. We tried to track your suit, but it had been blown out, or they disabled it. We figured they had gone to Lanyon, but we couldn’t get in. We didn’t know where you were… Oliver and Barry went on a rampage, searching.“ 

“Then suddenly Barry heard you again,” Cait says. “He called it a homing beacon. That’s what it sounded like. Every time you sent out a message, he caught it.” 

“It worked, then,” I whisper. I’m getting tired again. But I can’t sleep. “How, though? How?” 

“We believe it’s because he was the first person you ever connected with.” I turn to see Dr. Wells wheeling up next to me. He leans on the edge of the hospital bed. “Moments after you developed your power, you jumped into Barry’s mind and have had a connection ever since.” 

“What about the black hole?” I ask sleepily. It sticks in my mind. I can’t let it go. Maybe if I talk about it, it’ll get off my mind and I can sleep again. 

“What black hole?” Cisco asks. “Where did you see it?” 

“Everywhere. It’s everywhere, consuming Central City.” I say it, but they all exchange glances like I’m a little crazy. 

“Are you sure that wasn’t just a hallucination from Hyde?” Cait asks. 

“It wasn’t a hallucination,” I respond. Cait is pushing more drugs. I don’t see what they are, but I’m sure it’s not something they want to talk about right now. I’m suddenly very sleepy. 

“Hey. Hey, Es. Can you stay awake, just for a few more minutes?” Cisco insists. He leans forward so I can see him better, and I just grasp for his hand again. “You told Oliver when we found you—you said ‘don’t make a deal with the demon’. What did you mean? And who’s the hero?” 

“Barry thought I was delusional,” I whisper. Lights dance before my eyes. “I must be delusional.” 

“Why did you say it, though?” 

I shiver, suddenly cold. “I got the vibe they were important.” I peer at Cisco and Cait. “Something about them… something about what I said… it’s important. You’re important.” 

“Important how?” 

I can’t keep my eyes open. “Not how. When.” 

* * *

It’s been nearly two weeks by the time I finally get to go back to my apartment. I was correct—Cait was taking care of Chekhov, and Barry had found the key. It used to be home, but now I just feel like a ghost. 

The story, as it’s been told to the police precinct through Joe, is he and Eddie have been working the mugger case. Not a lie. And they had traced it to Jensson. Also not a lie. It was then that he kidnapped me. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I don’t think Singh is going to ask me. They got me as much time as I needed. Considering my physical situation, aside from my psychological situation… again, I don’t think Singh cared. 

I mean, he cared. 

It’s going to take time. 

I’m afraid this is going to take time I don’t have. 

So for several days, while I’m healing, I wander around my house, quietly. Everything is quiet. I don’t remember a time before this, this… silence. 

I’ve gotten so used to the cacophony that it’s disconcerting now. 

I’ve noticed Cait must have taken everything alcoholic out of my apartment. Not that I mind; she’s doing what she thinks is best for me. They all are. But now I’m afraid I don’t need the coping mechanism anymore. 

I know my power is still there. I can still hear my neighbor every once in a while, if I concentrate. 

I don’t want to say it’s harder now, but it’s definitely different. It’s so different. 

Cisco and Caitlin visit me together three days after I come back home. They’ve brought food, along with a stack of DVDs from Cisco’s collection. 

“How are you doing?” Cisco asks. Unfortunately, I can see in his face they have an ulterior motive for being here—I don’t have to be a mind reader for that. 

I do have to be a mind reader to determine he’s concerned about something I said. Something about black holes— 

“You’re here about the black hole comment,” I say, sitting painfully down on the edge of my couch. Cait sits down in my arm chair and Chekhov purposefully sits on her lap. She’s not displeased. 

“You guys know everything I know. I know it wasn’t a hallucination from Hyde, but I think it was just a dream. Maybe… maybe it was a metaphor for something, I don’t know.” 

“You said it was consuming the city,” Cait says, concern seeping into her voice. 

“Maybe it was a metaphor for the particle accelerator explosion,” I say. I don’t believe it myself, but she seems to dismiss the comment. 

“You said some other things…” 

“Guys, I was almost dead. People say a lot of things when they’re almost dead.” 

Cisco just nods, shooting a glare at Caitlin. They’ve decided to drop the subject, I think, but it’s not going to get dropped. Just for the time being. 

“But really. How are you doing?” Cait asks, shifting her weight on her chair. 

“I see you got rid of all my booze,” I say, chuckling just hard enough to hurt my ribs. 

Cisco wasn’t amused. ”We had to do it, Essie. We had to. You were going to die otherwise.“ 

“I’ve felt like I was dying for over a year now,” I find myself saying. “It wasn’t until I actually almost died that… that something clicked. Like a breaker had been blown.” 

“You reached a plateau with your powers,” Cait says. “You couldn’t improve any further. Until the gala. You went over the edge.” 

“Are you implying the gala actually helped me?” 

“Strangely enough, yes.” 

“It gave you the power to cope on your own,” Cisco says. 

“It doesn’t feel like I can cope on my own,” I respond. “For what it’s worth, though, I couldn’t have done any of this without the two of you.” 

The truth is, though, the longer I’m here, the more I feel like a ghost. 

Something, something deep inside, something screaming, is telling me to get out of Central City. 


	23. A Resolution

**End of January **

I’m very nearly healed, thanks to S.T.A.R. Labs, by the time that Barry finally comes to visit me. He looks worse for the wear, but I don’t pry. It’s been hard enough to learn how to handle him lately anyways. 

He comes into my apartment, silently, but I know there are about a million things he would like to say. 

The first surprises me, though. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” 

He throws me off guard. “What? You… you couldn’t have. My—my tracker was down, and you were knocked unconscious by me. I don’t blame you. I survived, and you saved me. That’s what counts, Barry.” 

“Essie, it was terrifying,” he says, taking a step towards me. I’ve finally taken off my shoulder brace, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore, which is good because I’m drawing quicker breaths as he draws closer. “To see you like that. I mean…” 

“You couldn’t control it any more than I could. We did our best. We tried to fix the situation. It ended terribly. That’s that.” 

He steps back again at my cold statement, so I reach towards him again. He takes my hand in his. 

“Thank you. Thank you for everything that you did, for finding me… for saving me. For making sure I didn’t die.” 

Barry pulls his hands around my waist, dragging me into a sluggish embrace, letting me lean my head against his shoulder for what feels like ages. I don’t know if I mentally suggest it, but he touches his fingers to my chin, moves it upward, and lets me kiss him deeply. He lets it happen, but he lets me control it, he lets me control the force of the kiss, the need behind it, and I know how much I need it. I know how much I need it, but I know how much of it is a lie; for me, it’s not, for him, this is all just a way to pretend like he isn’t in love with someone else. 

I’m strangely okay with pretending just for one more night, I decide. 

He pulls me closer, I wrap my arms around his neck and with a cringe, I pull him closer. I push it from my mind, I push everything out of my mind, until he breaks from me, taking a deep breath after placing his forehead against mine. 

“Essie. I should—” 

“Shh. No. Don’t say what you should or shouldn’t do. Don’t. Don’t. You’ve done right by me for so long, just do it once more, okay?” 

“Okay. Okay,” he murmurs, tracing his lips down my jaw, down my chin. “Are you sure?” 

The longer he touches me, the better I feel, and I know he feels it too; he’s unintentionally draining my pain, my fear, making me calm. Making me resolute. 

He slips his arm under my knees, and instead of using his speed to get us up the stairs, he takes it a step at a time. It’s comforting. His presence is comforting; it makes me wish I could stay. 

I can’t stay, I couldn’t stay— 

He sets me on my feet, gently, and while he does he lifts my t-shirt up and off of me. I try not to cringe when I raise my arms, but I do it anyways. His eyes linger on the scars on my wrists now, the bruising still yellowed around my shoulder. They’re lasting reminders, ones that have yet to go away. 

I push away the memories, everything I seemed to know about what happened and what I wished I didn’t know, and I purposefully take his shirt and undershirt off in one go. 

He’s not moving too quickly, not anymore; I don’t know why. I mean, I don’t know why physically—I can imagine why emotionally, but it would only be speculation. I may be a mind reader but I’m not going to force into his mind to discover something he obviously wishes I wouldn’t know. 

He lays me down on the bed and slips my sweats—underwear and all—off before I can even take in the lasting image of his abs. He braces his hands on either side of my head, leaning down to kiss me until I pick myself up off the bed when he draws away. I know he’s about to move too quickly, whether it’s intuition or otherwise, and lay a hand on his shoulder. I take away his form of pain like he took mine. It’s different this time, it’s duller, but stronger. It may be not as bright, but it still manages to take my breath away. This time, I don’t taste chocolate, or peppermint, or a log burning in a fireplace. I taste the color red, I taste the color black. They’re not meant to mix. 

But there is something there, regardless of what happened at Christmas time. I always knew there was something. It wasn’t the right something, so it seems. 

But right now, right in this moment, it was the right something. It was the only something. 

He’s silent, he’s knowing, he knows exactly where to go and where to touch, he knows where to avoid—regardless, he traces the bruises with light kisses, and I feel the pressure and a tiny bit of pain but otherwise it’s welcome. 

It’s something I haven’t had in what felt like ages: tenderness. For what felt like forever, it was all harsh lines and extremes, red blood and white rooms and black holes. It was cuts, bruises, breaks and tears. It was heavy dividing lines between good and evil, love and lust, yearning and disinterest. 

Barry showed me what it was like to see the spaces in between. It doesn’t have to be black or white. Today, it was soft, blurred to the point of fuzziness. 

It didn’t have to be any color except for the one you choose. 

For now, for today, I’ve chosen the soft white-gold hues of light cascading through the window facing the coast, feeling Barry moving his mouth and hands further down my body, down my cold, broken skin until he pushes my knees apart. 

I let out a sigh, so does he and I feel his hot breath against my thighs. His thoughts are just as tumultuous, I know; I hear them but I don’t try to decode them. He’s as conflicted as I am. Not about what were we doing, no—he was as conflicted about his life and his future as I was. I take a bit of that anxiety and while I expect to feel the ill effects of the exchange, I don’t. 

And we both try to push it from our minds. I latch onto the feeling from before, trying to bring back that overwhelming joy and peace but it’s not there. We’re different now. Just in a month, we’ve changed. 

He runs his tongue over me, keeping a gentle hand on each thigh. As his tongue starts to shift, I start to recognize the taste of whatever we were on my tongue. It’s coffee, with cream and no sugar. It’s a touch of electricity, like I grazed my fingers across an exposed outlet. It’s vodka, it’s blood, it’s metal, it’s clear, cold air filled with stars. 

A person cannot be boiled down to one emotion. I’m realizing this now. We’re made up of countless pieces—of emotions, of memories, of choices. One mistake doesn’t make me like Jensson. It just makes me…. more human. 

I tense up, I can’t help it, and a little bit of pain ripples through my body. He breaks from me just briefly, just enough to kiss the inside of my thighs, make me relax against him. He goes back to me, gentle, purposeful movements, and I close my eyes. I feel like I’m back there, again, in the park on Halloween when I pulled Barry down on the ground to watch stars with me. I can pick out the stars above me, and I know I’m in my room, but everything feels like the stars look. 

He shifts, he goes to slip his jeans off and readies himself. When he finds his way back up to me, he leaves a trail of wet kisses across my ribs, across my lungs, across my heart. When he gets to my mouth, I taste him and I taste myself. He pushes himself into me, and I’m ready for him; it’s like the world’s stopped for just a few moments and it’s permitted me leave from the chaos in my mind. I let him take control—I know it’s strange for him, he’s not used to being in charge, but it’s good for him. It’s good; he needs to know he can. He needs to know he can be trusted. 

And I do. I trust him implicitly. That’s why this can’t go on. That’s why I can’t stay here, in Central City. I can’t be here, I can’t. 

I try to take deeper breaths, but it’s no use; my air is just exhaled in various sounds. I realized we’ve barely said a word to each other. We don’t have to. We’ve reached a higher level, I’ve determined, although I don’t know what that higher level is. But it tastes like coffee with cream, like a clear October night, like electricity. 

That feel of electricity takes precedence when we both let go. We cling to each other, and I’m not sure who needs the other more. It’s equal, I decide. It’s equal, but one side has to give while the other bears the brunt of the negativity coming at them. One always has to break. 

I know it’s going to be me. 

I have to take a moment for myself once he pulls away from me. I need to breathe, I need to remember my white ceiling isn’t pinpricked with points of celestial light. 

“You’re leaving,” he says. “You’re going back to Coast City.” 

He doesn’t ask. He makes a statement. He’s been in my mind, I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. 

“I have to,” I say simply. “I can’t be here anymore.” 

He doesn’t have to ask why. It was Jensson, it was Hart. It was Iris and it was him. 

“Things… things aren’t black and white,” I say, avoiding eye contact with him. “People aren’t just good or bad. They’re all a mixture of both. It’s what we do with what we’re given that tips the scales one way or another. Life… it doesn’t have a sort of… of polarity. I can’t stay in Central City. I’m afraid if I stay in a world full of metahumans versus humans, us against the world, I’m going to turn into something I’m not. I’m going to feed off all that negativity. And I can’t do that again. I’ve already been through that. 

“Besides, we’ve already had one miracle in this town. There’s not going to be one again. It’s not just going to end well. And I’m too fractured to handle another crisis, Barry. I’m not going to get a happy ending unless I give it to myself.” 

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m making the right decision. 


	24. Odessa

**Saturday, January 31, 2015 / 4:02 p.m. **

I stand in the train station. He’s late. 

I’ve already said my goodbyes to Cisco, Caitlin, Iris… even Eddie and Joe, who have lamented my loss. 

I can’t look at Central City the same anymore. It’s like someone inverted the colors and I’m getting a stained photo negative. 

My train’s going to be here in seven minutes and he’s not here yet— 

With a rush of air, Barry appears in front of me, slightly disheveled. 

“Sorry, sorry—bank robbery downtown,” he says, giving me a wide grin in an attempt to get me to forgive him. Of course I do. 

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” I say, giving him a smile. It’s a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” he tries. He tries one more time on the pile of tries. He’s not hopeful this time, though; he knows I’ve made up my mind. He nods. He already knows. I lost too much of myself here. 

“You know Oliver’s not that far away,” he says, trying to change the subject. 

“I know. We’ll have plenty to talk about on the train to Coast City.“ 

“And you guys have that Russian language thing going on—” 

“What, in case he needs someone to go undercover with him in the Bratva?” 

Barry just lets out a laugh as the train finally rolls in. Some people start to get off, but as I peek in I see Oliver in a window seat. He gives me a head nod, so I turn back to Barry. 

“If, for any reason, you ever need a telepath slash empath…” I drift. 

“What about a friend?” Barry asks. I nod. He knows I would do anything for him. We’re on a different plane of existence now, something that transcends far beyond former lovers and partners in vigilantism. We’ve saved each other’s lives. That’s got to count for something. 

He pulls me into his embrace and drops a kiss on my forehead. 

“But seriously. Don’t be a stranger, Barry Allen.” 

“I won’t if you won’t, Essie Price.” 

I grab my bag, I grab my cat carrier, and without another word, I head towards my train. I know it’s not the last I’ll see of Barry Allen. I know, deep down. Somewhere. 

When I look back at him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, he just smiles, looks down at his shoes, and is suddenly gone. 

I’m just about to get onto the train when I hear my name being yelled by a familiar voice– Cisco slides to a stop, nearly colliding with the side of the Amtrak. 

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?“ I say, chuckling at his dishevelment. 

“Actually, I got held up– haha! – by the bank robbery. I wanted to make sure you had this. Me and Cait… we, uh, put this together for you.” 

He hands me the small duffel bag. I don’t look inside. I already know what it is. 

“You’re giving me a better suit,“ I say, trying to stop myself from laughing at Cisco making himself laugh. I always admired him for that. 

“I don’t know, I’m thinking you might need it in Coast City,” he says with a shrug. “I hear they have an opening for a masked vigilante.” 

I can’t help but read his mind. He’s sending anxious vibes, ones I can’t help but pick up. He’s suddenly aware of my intrusion, I think, by the look on his face. 

“You’ll let me know if you… if you ever need me, won’t you?“ He asks tentatively. 

“Cisco. My bright sun,” I add playfully, resting my hand on his face. His smirk falls a bit. “You must know I always need you.” 

The train makes the sound for last call. I look inside, and Oliver raises his eyebrow at me. 

I turn back to Cisco, I go onto my tiptoes and I kiss him on the cheek. It just feels right. Something about it all feels right. 

He just looks down and chuckles to himself as I slip away onto the train. 

When I find Oliver, he stands up when he sees me and surprises me by pulling me into a hug. 

“Looks like you have half of Central City falling in love with you.” 

I look out the window at Cisco. He gives me a small wave as the train starts to move. I think Oliver is right. But I’m not going to be the one to admit that. 

“Thanks for coming. I’m feeling a little bit better having an escort.” 

“You did a lot for Barry,” he says, settling back down into his seat. “The kid needed someone like you.” 

“I think he’s going to be just fine,” I whisper. 

“On khoroshiy chelovek.” He’s a good man. 

I look back to Oliver. He looks tired, half-dead, like he’s been through a lot in the past couple months. I don’t want to know how I look. 

“Tak ty,” I respond. So are you. 

We head out of Central City, out of the downtown, out into the flats and the industrial areas. We head past the defunct Ferris Air testing facility.

When I blink, I see it. The black hole, shifting, opening over the skyline of Central City.

I open my eyes. 

I turn to Oliver, but I don’t see Oliver. I see a man in a shadow, tricking those even closest to him. I hear someone speaking in Arabic. I don’t know what they’re saying, but it’s nothing good. 

When I blink, though, it all disappears and suddenly everything falls into place. 

I know what it is. I know what I’m seeing. They’re not hallucinations. 

They’re visions of the future. 


End file.
